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THE  MAINLAND 


NOVELS  BY  E.  L.  GRANT  WATSON 

WHERE  BONDS  ARE  LOOSED 
THE  MAINLAND 


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THE  MAINLAND 

by  E.   L.    GRANT  WATSON 

PUBLISHED    AT    NEW    YORK 
by    ALFRED    A.    KNOPF    1917 


^^^^^^A^^^^^^^^^^\^^^^\f^\ 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


To 

My  Stepfather 

J.   C.  POWELL 


Over   the   great   windy   waters   and   over   the   clear-crested   summits, 
Unto    the   sea  and    the   sky,    and   unto    the   perfecter   earth. 

Come,   little  bark  —  to   a  land  wherein  gods  of   the  old  time  wandered, 
Where  every  breath  even  noiv  changes  to   ether  divine. 

Come,  let  us  go;  though  withal  a  voice  whisper — "The  world  that  we 
live  in, 
Whithersoever  we  turn,  still  is  the  same  narrow  crib; 

'Tis  but   to  prove  limitation,   and   measure  a   cord,    that   we   travel- 
Let  who  would  scape  and  be  free  go  to  his  chamber  and  think; 

'Tis  but  to  change  idle  fancies  for  memories  wilfully  falser; 
'Tis  but  to  go  and  have  been."     Come,  little  bark,  let  us  go. 

A.  H.   Clough. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I  The  Island  9 

II  The  Port  of  Kaimera  45 

III  The  Seaboard  62 

IV  The  Wide  Horizon  107 
V  The  Mirage  147 

VI  The  Town  188 

VII  The  Desert  213 

VIII  The  Beaten  Track  259 

IX  Epilogue  303 


THE  MAINLAND 

CHAPTER  I 
THE    ISLAND 


ON  the  crest  of  a  sand-dune  under  the  shadow 
of  a  clump  of  stunted  and  wind-bent  acacia 
bushes  the  boy,  John  Sherwin,  sat  at  his  ease 
and  looked  out  over  the  Indian  Ocean.  The  afternoon 
was  calm  with  an  occasional  gust  of  wind  to  ruffle  the 
surface  of  the  sea,  adding  here  and  there  a  touch  of  green 
or  purple  to  the  deep  blue  of  its  smooth  expanse. 

John  Sherwin,  sixteen  years  old,  was  a  well-formed, 
strong  boy.  He  wore  no  clothes  whatever,  and  his  skin 
was  tanned  dark  brown  by  constant  exposure  to  the  sun. 
His  hair  was  long  and  matted  and  reached  to  his  shoul- 
ders. It  was  red  in  colour,  but  so  dark  as  to  be  in  no  way 
"  sandy,"  rather  the  tint  of  dark  mahogany  with  the  sun 
on  it.  His  neck  was  full  and  strong,  well-proportioned 
to  support  the  head  with  its  mass  of  hair.  As  he  moved 
indolently  the  muscles  of  his  arms  and  neck  slipped  like 
live  and  alert  animals  under  the  smooth  skin.  His  hips 
were  narrow,  his  legs  hard  and  well-tapered  with  no 
spare  flesh  on  them,  and  his  boy's  belly  was  lean  as  a 
hound's.     On  his  chin  were  a  few  adolescent  hairs.     His 

9 


io  THE     MAINLAND 

features  were  regular  and  tranquil,  and  between  his  lips 
his  teeth  shone  very  white. 

During  the  morning  he  had  been  out  with  the  dinghy 
fishing  for  snapper.  He  had  caught  ten:  more  than  he 
needed  —  but  then  catching  them  was  such  fun.  They 
now  lay  beside  him  strung  together  by  a  cord  through 
their  gills.  They  formed  an  iridescent  pile  of  scarlet  and 
silver.  John  scraped  one  of  them  affectionately  with  his 
thumb-nail  and  marvelled  at  the  blending  of  orange, 
scarlet,  rose  and  silver  on  its  scales.  Everything  that  he 
had  ever  seen  in  the  sea  was  brilliantly  coloured  or  had 
something  brilliant  about  it,  from  small  shells  on  the 
sand  to  the  great  tiger-sharks,  which  at  evening  came 
close  in  shore  after  the  shoals  of  gar-fish.  The  corals 
were  always  brightly  coloured,  so  too  were  the  swimming 
sea-worms,  the  crabs,  the  sea-slugs  and  the  fish,  and  even 
the  little  sand-coloured  flat-fish  had  eyes  more  brilliant 
than  any  other  living  creature.  He  was  glad  that  there 
was  so  much  colour  in  the  sea,  and  loved  it  for  having 
so  many  bright  things  hidden. 

The  fifteen  years  of  John  Sherwin's  life  had  been  lived 
on  Kanna  Island  with  his  father  and  mother  and  the 
black  boy  Coffee.  He  had  been  for  the  most  part  very 
happy.  He  was  happy  with  his  parents,  and  most  happy 
in  the  long  hours  of  solitude  spent  in  roaming  over  the 
island.  He  knew  the  island  and  all  the  beasts  that  lived 
there;  and  the  edges  of  the  sea  he  had  also  explored  very 
thoroughly  and  knew  a  great  many  of  the  sea  creatures. 
He  could  shoot  well  with  his  father's  gun,  and  could  hit 
wallabies,  or  sea-eagles,  or  oyster-catchers  when  they 
were  needed  for  food.  He  could  fish  as  cleverly  as  a 
native,  and  could  spear  fish  as  easily  as  he  could  hook 


THE     ISLAND  n 

them.  He  lived  out  of  doors  all  day  and  every  day,  and 
often  slept  out  with  a  single  blanket  for  covering. 

This  life  to  a  child  of  civilization  might  have  seemed 
monotonous,  but  John  had  never  known  what  it  was  to 
be  bored.  For  him  there  was  always  interest  to  be  found 
and  sometimes  adventure.  How  could  he  possibly  be 
bored  by  lying  on  the  sand-dunes  watching  the  various 
insects  that  burrowed  in,  or  flitted  about  it?  If  he  were 
tired  of  that  he  could  go  and  play  in  the  sea,  or  swim 
far  out,  and  imagine  he  was  leaving  the  world  altogether; 
then  he  could  come  in  and  run  along  the  sands  to 
where  the  dead  coral  reef  touched  the  beach;  there  he 
could  test  his  skill  to  the  uttermost  by  trying  to  catch 
the  ever-wary  cray-fish  that  lurked  in  the  deep  hollows 
of  the  coral  pools.  Without  knowing  it,  he  loved  life 
with  a  passion  that  gave  joy  and  zest  to  every  moment. 

As  he  now  gazed  lazily  out  to  sea,  he  caught  sight  of 
something  unusual  about  fifty  yards  from  the  shore. 
He  stood  up  to  get  a  better  view.  Yes,  there  were  three 
large  black  objects  making  slowly  in  towards  the  land. 
As  they  moved  near  the  surface  of  the  water  they 
looked  like  some  huge  kind  of  fish,  but  they  were  larger 
than  any  fish  that  he  had  ever  seen.  For  a  few  seconds 
he  could  not  think  what  they  were,  then  he  saw  that 
they  were  three  monster  rays,  or  stingarees.  He  had  seen 
plenty  of  small  ones,  but  these  looked  to  be  eight  feet 
or  more  across.  As  they  came  closer  in,  he  could  see 
more  distinctly.  The  two  smaller  fish  appeared  to  be 
driving  the  larger  one  towards  the  land.  As  they  came 
into  the  shallow  water,  they  rose  nearer  to  the  surface, 
and  their  fins  sticking  out  sometimes  beat  the  air.  The 
boy  watched,  tense  with  excitement;  then  he  turned  and 


12  THE     MAINLAND 

ran  as  fast  as  he  could  inland  towards  a  hut  where  he 
kept  his  fishing-tackle,  and  where  he  knew  there  were 
two  harpoons  that  his  father  had  made  for  turtle-spearing. 
He  seized  a  harpoon  and  ran  back  to  the  shore,  leaping 
over  the  bushes  in  his  excitement.  The  stingaree  were 
still  there,  but  a  little  further  out.  He  ran  into  the  sea 
towards  them.  Fortunately  the  fish  had  no  sense  of 
fear,  so  that  he  was  able  to  get  quite  close,  though  by 
this  time  he  was  up  to  his  waist  in  water  and  could  only 
move  slowly.  He  knew  that  they  were  dangerous,  that 
they  had  a  long  spine  on  their  backs  which  carried  a  strong 
poison.  Arrived  within  three  feet,  he  flung  the  harpoon 
with  a  strong  downward  stab,  and  fell  backwards  just  in 
time  to  avoid  the  side  swish  of  the  tail.  The  fish  dis- 
appeared in  a  swirl  of  water;  then  in  a  moment  John  felt 
the  line  tighten  on  his  wrist.  Slowly  he  let  it  out,  and 
at  the  same  time  made  for  the  beach,  then,  turning, 
when  knee-deep  he  began  to  fight  his  fish  to  land. 

The  harpoon  was  only  fitted  with  a  light  shark-line 
which,  John  knew,  could  not  stand  a  great  strain,  so  that 
he  had  to  work  very  slowly  and  carefully.  At  last  he 
had  the  stingaree  on  the  surf,  but  now  began  the  difficult 
part.  The  big  pectoral  fins  could  here  get  strong  leverage 
on  the  sand,  and  every  time  that  the  boy  hauled  his  fish 
through  the  surf  the  stingaree  wrenched  himself  back, 
threatening  to  break  the  line.  For  half  an  hour  the  boy 
tugged  in  vain,  then  to  his  great  delight  he  saw  the  black 
figure  of  Coffee  in  the  distance.  He  shouted,  and  Coffee 
heard  and  came  towards  him. 

"  Look,  Coffee,  I  got  urn  one  big  fellow  stingaree, "  he 
panted.  "  You  run  quick  fellow  along  a  hut  and  fetch 
other  fellow  harpoon." 


THE     ISLAND  13 

Coffee  hesitated.     "  That  one  bad  place  I  not  go  there." 

"  What  for,  you  frightened  fellow  ?  You  go  quick 
and  fetch  harpoon." 

"  Yes,  I  frightened  fellow.  That  one  bad  place. 
Plenty  devil-devil." 

"  Oh  you  damned  fool,  Coffee!  You  catch  hold  here. 
You  let  him  go  I  kill  you Don't  pull  too  hard!  " 

"  All  right,  Master  John,  I  hold  'im  plenty  tight.  I 
catch  'em  stingaree  plenty  time." 

John  gave  one  anxious  glance  to  see  that  Coffee  had 
the  fish  well  in  hand,  and  then  dashed  off  once  more 
towards  the  hut. 

When  he  returned  he  found  that  the  black  had  pulled 
the  stingaree  into  the  surf.  "  Quick,  Master,  "  panted 
Coffee.     "  This  one  fight  plenty  hard.     Hey  whop  —  der 

fiirtin' devil "     Then  as  John  struck:     "  That  good 

hit;  now  you  hold  'em  I  catch  'em  tail." 

The  two  harpoons  both  held  fast,  and  John  took  both 
the  lines.  Coffee  now  made  quick  dashes  at  the  slashing 
tail.  He  finally  secured  it,  and  at  once  held  the  slippery 
end  in  his  teeth.  Then  grunting  and  panting,  he  made 
signs  to  be  given  one  of  the  lines.  Taking  the  line  in 
both  hands  he  held  it  taut  across  the  back  behind  the 
spine,  between  the  spine  and  the  tail,  then  with  an  out- 
ward and  downward  jerk  broke  off  the  spine  close  to  the 
back.  With  a  laugh  he  let  go  his  hold.  The  fish  was 
now  defenceless  and  no  longer  dangerous. 

For  some  moments  Coffee,  chuckling  with  delight, 
watched  the  helpless  flounderings,  then  firmly  twisting 
his  fingers  into  the  gills,  he  began  to  drag  the  stingaree 
up  the  beach.  John  helped  with  all  his  strength,  and 
they  soon  had  their  catch  high  and  dry. 


14  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Him  big  fellow,  plenty  full  of  eggs,  "  grunted  Coffee 
as  he  tugged  at  one  of  the  pectoral  fins,  and  finally  turned 
the  fish  on  its  back. 

John  was  very  excited  at  this  new  and  enormous 
capture,  as  he  had  only  seen  small  stingarees  before, 
and  he  was  full  of  admiration  for  Coffee's  familiar  way 
of  dealing  with  the  creature.  He  probed  tentatively  at 
the  crescent-shaped  mouth  with  the  butt  end  of  one  of 
the  harpoons,  and  felt  very  much  interested  in  the  rows 
of  large  flat  teeth  that  snapped  savagely  on  one  another. 
Then  recollecting  the  broken  spine,  he  ran  off  to  fetch  it. 

The  spine  was  about  seven  inches  long  and  made  of 
very  hard  white  bone,  barbed  in  every  direction  and 
covered  all  over  with  transparent  mucilage.  This 
mucilage,  he  knew,  was  what  was  so  poisonous.  By 
rubbing  it  in  wet  sand  he  got  rid  of  all  the  poison,  and 
very  soon  the  spine  shone  like  white  ivory.  This  was 
indeed  a  trophy  for  a  boy  to  be  proud  of,  and  one  much 
prized  by  all  sea  fishermen,  both  black  and  white. 

When  he  returned  to  Coffee,  he  found  him  engaged 
in  cutting  up  the  still  remonstrating  stingaree.  He  set 
to  and  helped,  delighted  at  what  appeared  to  be  such 
beautiful  flakes  of  white  flesh.  With  a  boy's  curiosity 
he  made  a  very  thorough  dissection  of  the  stingaree, 
and  when  at  length  he  was  satisfied  as  to  its  structure 
and  resources,  he  selected  some  of  the  better  pieces  of 
flesh,  fastened  them  to  his  string  of  snapper,  and  then 
started  to  trudge  home.  Coffee  remained,  intent  on 
securing  the  best  of  what  was  left. 

The  house  where  John  Sherwin  lived  with  his  parents 
lay  in  a  hollow  between  two  sand-dunes  and  was  hidden 
from  all  approaches  except  the  sea,     One  of  these  dunes, 


THE     ISLAND  15 

higher  than  any  neighbouring  point,  offered  a  good  view 
of  the  island.  It  was  his  father's  habit  frequently  to 
climb  this  sand-dune,  and  to  stand  looking  out  to  sea 
and  down  upon  the  long  narrow  length  of  the  island. 
As  John  now  approached  he  saw  that  his  father  and 
mother  were  both  there.  That  they  had  already  seen 
him  he  did  not  doubt.  He  felt  annoyed  a  little  because 
he  knew  that  his  mother  would  scold  him  for  having 
discarded  his  clothes.  About  half  a  mile  from  the  sand- 
dune  he  put  down  his  string  of  fish  and  went  to  a  thick 
clump  of  acacia  bushes.  From  under  these  bushes  he 
produced  a  pair  of  old  cotton  breeches  and  a  shirt. 
These,  when  he  had  slipped  into  them,  altered  his  ap- 
pearance considerably;  and  he  was  no  longer  the  beau- 
tiful and  prehistoric  youth  of  the  island,  but  looked 
rather  like  a  disreputable  but  handsome  young  pirate. 
Picking  up  his  fish  and  slinging  them  over  his  shoulder, 
he  climbed  towards  the  dune  where  his  parents  were 
standing. 

n 

John  Sherwin  senior  was  fifty  years  old,  strongly  built 
and  hardened  by  an  exposed  life.  He  looked  younger 
than  he  was.  There  was  little  sign  of  grey  in  his  thick 
red  hair  and  beard.  His  face  and  bare  arms  were  darkly 
tanned  and  covered  with  freckles.  There  was  confidence 
in  his  look  and  a  strength  which  only  comes  from  a 
successful  conflict  with  primitive  material.  His  blue 
eyes  were  rather  deep  set  and  very  bright;  in  them  was 
tranquillity  and  happiness.  His  wife  Alice,  though  five 
years  younger,  was  more  aged.  Her  black  hair  was 
streaked  with  grey  and  her  face  was  heavily  lined,  but  in 


16  THE     MAINLAND 

her  expression  there  was  also  a  great  contentment.  As 
is  usually  the  case  with  women  living  in  primitive 
conditions,  she  was  wearing  herself  out  in  the  service 
of  the  man  whom  she  loved,  and  was  happy  in  the 
sacrifice. 

This  man  and  woman,  who  lived  so  solitary  a  life  on 
Kanna  Island,  had  found  happiness.  They  had  attained 
an  easy  harmony  with  the  surroundings  of  sea  and  cliff. 
The  wind,  blowing  over  the  swept  sand-dunes,  contained 
the  significance  of  their  isolated  life.  Neither  of  them 
had  any  wish  to  return  to  the  towns  that  for  so  long  they 
had  left.  In  each  other  they  found  reliance  and  security 
born  of  the  tried  companionship  of  years. 

Sherwin's  simple  and  frank  nature  found  satisfaction 
in  the  island  life.  His  small  sheep  farm  gave  him 
employment,  and  was  an  adequate  means  of  livelihood. 
It  was  the  one  link  which  connected  him  with  the  main- 
land, and  he  was  glad  of  the  visits  of  the  cutter  when 
it  came  to  bring  stores  or  to  take  away  his  fat  lambs. 
This  exchange  of  goods  enabled  him  to  live.  He  had 
no  need  of  money,  and  for  the  last  few  years  had  alto- 
gether ceased  to  use  it.  With  Pomfrey,  the  captain  of 
the  cutter,  he  made  rough  bargains  of  exchange,  and  they 
both  were  satisfied. 

Alice  his  wife  had  also  found  contentment,  a  thing 
rare  with  women  of  her  type.  At  first  the  wide  sweeps  of 
the  sea  and  sky  had  filled  her  with  a  sense  of  loneliness 
and  fear,  but  later,  when  her  son  was  born,  she  began 
to  feel,  through  her  husband's  senses,  the  joy  of  their 
deep  solitude  and  the  waxing  confidence  of  their  union. 

From  the  crest  of  the  dune,  where  they  now  stood 
hand  in  hand,  they  watched  the  boy  climbing  towards 


THE     ISLAND  17 

them  under  his  heavy  load  of  fish.  In  the  woman's  ex- 
pression there  was  a  look  of  almost  passionate  admiration 
for  his  youth,  and  Sherwin's  eyes  betrayed  the  pride  which 
he  felt  in  his  son.  They  neither  of  them  spoke,  but 
watched  silently  as  he  panted  up  the  hill.  John  gave  no 
salutation  as  he  approached,  but  flung  down  the  fish  in 
front  of  his  father  and  then  slowly  turned  them  over  with 
his  foot  so  as  to  expose  the  ribbed  white  steaks  of  sting- 
aree  flesh.     "Do  you  know  what  that  is?  "  he  asked. 

Sherwin  bent  and  picked  up  a  piece;  then  said  ques- 
tioningly,  "A  big  stingaree?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  full  of  pride,  "  and  look  "—  he  held 
out  the  spine. 

"  My  word,  that  must  have  been  a  big  one,"  said  his 
father  gravely,  examining  the  spine.  "  How  did  you  get 
it?" 

John  told  the  story.  Then  eagerly:  "  It's  good  to 
eat  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  prefer  snapper,"  laughed  his  father.  "  No,  even 
little  ones  are  tough,  and  this  one  is  just  like  rubber; 
feel  it.  You  must  have  struck  hard  to  get  your  harpoon 
in  —  I  daresay  Coffee  could  eat  it,  but  it's  coarse,  com- 
mon stuff." 

"  Anyway  I'm  going  to  try  it,"  said  John.  "  Mother, 
will  you  cook  some  for  me?  " 

Sherwin  laughed  again.  "  Do  you  remember  the  blue 
bob-tail  that  you  made  your  mother  cook  for  you?  I 
expect  it  will  be  something  like  that." 

"Mother,  will  you  cook  some  for  me?"  insisted  the 
boy. 

"  Oh  yes,  I'll  cook  some." 

"  What  have  you  done  with  the  skin?  "  asked  Sherwin. 


18  THE    MAINLAND 

"  Coffee's  got  that.     Why?" 

"  I  was  thinking  it  might  come  in  useful.  Stingaree 
skin  is  very  tough.  I  believe  there's  a  big  trade  done  in 
some  parts.  They  make  a  kind  of  leather  that  fetches 
a  high  price.  I'll  come  and  have  a  look  at  it  —  perhaps 
we  can  dry  it  in  the  sun.  Alice,  you  can  take  one  or  two 
of  the  fish  with  you.  We'll  bring  the  rest  when  we 
come." 

Down  on  the  beach  they  found  Coffee  still  occupied 
with  the  stingaree.  Sherwin  was  pleased  with  the  look 
of  the  skin,  and  decided  that  it  was  worth  drying.  By 
the  time  they  started  to  walk  towards  the  hut  it  was 
twilight,  and  when  they  came  to  the  flat  open  ground  in 
which  it  stood,  Coffee  hung  back  and  finally  halted. 

"What's  the  matter,  Coffee?  "  asked  Sherwin. 

"  Plenty  devil-devils  this  way.  I  not  come  —  night 
time  devil-devil." 

John  expected  that  his  father  would  come  out  with 
some  fierce  oath  that  would  send  the  recalcitrant  Coffee 
speeding  ahead,  but  to  his  surprise  he  noticed  that  the 
two  men  stood  eyeing  each  other  —  Coffee  resolute,  and 
his  father  doubtful,  suddenly  turned  sulky.  He  heard 
his  father  mutter  something  in  his  beard  as  he  took  the 
harpoons;  Coffee  then  turned,  and  without  a  word  ran 
towards  the  beach.  The  boy  wanted  to  laugh  but  his 
father's  manner  restrained  him;  he  only  mentioned 
how  Coffee  had  refused  to  fetch  the  harpoon  from  the 
hut,  and  asked  what  he  meant  by  the  talk  of  devil-devils. 
Sherwin,  however,  gave  no  answer,  and  John  knew  his 
father's  temper  too  well  to  repeat  the  question.  At  the 
hut  Sherwin  very  slowly  put  the  harpoons  away  and  stayed 


THE     ISLAND  19 

to  pick  up  some  of  the  tackle  that  had  fallen;  then 
in  a  lowering  mood  he  walked  back  in  silence  to  the 
house. 

Sherwin's  quick  temper  was  seldom  prolonged  into 
sulkiness,  and  his  dark  mood  soon  passed.  At  the  even- 
ing meal  he  joked  about  John's  stingaree,  and  the  boy 
was  eager  with  questions  about  the  trade  in  skins.  All 
that  he  heard  excited  him;  with  a  boy's  easily  kindled 
enthusiasm  he  planned  to  make  a  collection  of  skins 
which  some  day  he  could  trade  with  on  the  mainland. 
What  exactly  this  would  mean  he  did  not  know,  but 
obviously  the  first  thing  was  to  get  the  skins,  and  that 
was  enough  for  the  present;  the  rest  was  a  splendid  and 
nebulous  dream.  He  had  heard  a  little  about  the  main- 
land from  Pomfrey  and  the  two  sailors  who  sometimes 
landed  from  the  cutter.  They  had  told  stories  of  the 
North  sea-board  and  of  pearling,  stories  of  Kaimera, 
the  nearest  port,  and  of  horse-racing  and  prize-fights. 
For  long  past  he  had  wondered  idly  about  these  things, 
but  lately  they  had  become  more  important:  not  that 
he  did  not  love  the  life  on  the  island,  but  he  was  begin- 
ning to  be  a  little  conscious  of  something  else,  something 
that  was  growing  in  strength  and  which  now  wove  itself 
delightfully  among  his  dreams  of  stingaree  hunting.  He 
urged  his  father  to  tell  him  all  he  knew  about  the  trade, 
leading  him  on  to  talk  of  the  pearling  on  the  north  coast. 
Sherwin,  who  usually  only  spoke  of  the  life  on  the  island, 
warmed  to  the  new  theme.  John  sat  in  silence,  taking 
in  the  new  picture  of  the  outside  world  beyond  the  sea 
and  the  sand-dunes  of  Kanna  Island. 

"  Did  you  ever  go  pearling?  "  asked  the  boy. 


20  THE    MAINLAND 

"  No,  but  I  might  have  done  so  at  one  time.  There 
was  an  inlet  not  fifty  miles  from  here  —  they  called  it 
Useless  Inlet  —  out  of  which  they  took  twenty  thousand 
pounds'  worth  of  shell." 

"  Is  that  a  great  deal?  " 

"  It's  enough  to  scrape  up  with  a  couple  of  old  luggers 
and  a  few  blacks." 

"  Is  there  more  to  be  had?  " 

"  Not  round  here,  they've  taken  it  all,  but  up  beyond 
Maund's  landing  they  say  there  are  black  pearls  and  big 
shells  worth  a  lot  of  money." 

After  a  pause  John  asked,  "  What  do  people  want  all 
the  money  for?  " 

"  To  buy  things  with,"  then  with  a  little  snort  of 
contempt,  "  and  to  make  themselves  damned  miserable." 
He  looked  across  at  Alice  who  smiled  confidently  at  him. 
He  went  on,  pleased  at  her  encouragement.  "  It's  not 
many  boys  of  your  age  who  have  never  wanted  money. 
We  have  here  everything  that  we  want,  and  nothing  to 
fret  about.  Now  is  there  anything  that  you  want  that 
you  haven't  got?  " 

The  boy  thought  a  moment.  "  I  would  like  a  new 
rifle  —  one  like  Pomfrey's." 

"  You  shall  have  one,"  said  Sherwin,  and  thumped  the 
table  with  his  fist.     "Anything  else?" 

"  Father,  when  will  you  take  me  to  the  mainland?  " 

The  question  was  unexpected,  and  in  a  moment 
Sherwin's  anger  flared  out.  "  What  the  hell  do  you  want 
to  go  to  the  mainland  for?  You  say  you've  got  all  you 
want  here.  There  are  a  damned  lot  of  rotten  things  on 
the  mainland,  my  son,  and  you're  a  fool  to  go  seeking 
them  before  you  need.  .  .  .  Isn't  that  so,  Alice  ?     There's 


THE     ISLAND  21 

a  bloody  lot  of  nonsense  they  teach  boys  there,  and  you 
can  thank  your  good  luck  you're  quit  of  it." 

John  would  never  meet  his  father  in  that  mood;  he 
knew  it  was  useless  to  talk.  He  had  known  too  that  his 
father  did  not  want  him  to  go,  and  that  his  request  had 
been  audacious.  Only  because  they  had  talked  about 
the  pearling  trade  had  he  found  courage  to  ask.  Now, 
while  his  father  glowered  at  him,  he  discreetly  kept  silence, 
but  after  supper,  while  helping  his  mother  wash  up  the 
things,  he  said,  "  Mother,  I  must  go  one  day  to  the  main- 
land, I  can't  live  here  always,  can  I?  " 

"  Yes,  you  must  go  one  day." 

"Will  father  let  me?" 

"  Yes,  he'll  have  to  let  you  go  later  on." 

"Why  not  now?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  away  and  leave  us?  " 

After     a     pause  —  "No "     Then     after     another 

pause,  "  Will  you  always  stay  here?  " 

"  Yes,  always." 

"Why?" 

"  We  are  happy  here,  we  want  nothing  else,  and  we 
want  to  keep  you  with  us  as  long  as  we  can.  Your  father 
would  miss  your  help." 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  much,"  said  the  boy  depreciatingly, 
but  proud  of  the  tribute.  Then  after  a  long  pause, 
"  One  day  I  must  go  —  I  feel  that.  You  won't  mind, 
mother " 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  come  back  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  I'll  come  back  sure  enough.  That's  partly  why 
I  want  to  go  —  for  the  fun  of  coming  back." 

"  How  different  you'll  be,"  smiled  his  mother.  "  Well, 
wait  another  season,  you're  only  sixteen  and  a  half." 


22  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Another  year,"  he  mused.     "  Yes,  I'll  wait." 

ni 

That  evening  he  had  a  desire  to  get  away  by  himself. 
The  house  seemed  very  small,  his  father  seemed  very  big 
and  in  the  way.  He  slipped  out  at  the  back  door  and 
ran  down  towards  the  sea. 

The  island  was  lit  by  the  light  of  a  half-moon  and  the 
sands  shone  smooth  and  white.  The  boy  moved  silently 
to  the  sea's  edge. 

With  a  rhythmical  beat  small  wavelets  slapped  the 
shore,  and  in  the  shallow  ripples  that  ran  up  the  beach 
were  minute  phosphorescent  globules.  How  still  it  was 
except  for  that  monotonous  sound.  How  big  was  the 
sea  —  how  enduring  the  land.  It  was  at  night  they  talked 
to  one  another.  John  let  the  waves  wash  over  his  feet. 
Life,  he  felt,  was  extraordinarily  sweet,  it  was  big,  stretch- 
ing to  the  horizon  and  far  beyond,  and  all  for  him. 
Glorious!  and  how  splendid  to  live!  He  would  himself 
find  out  everything  —  explore  the  mainland  and  all  the 
great  cities.  He  felt  that  he  was  loved.  Life  and  earth 
loved  him  —  the  sea  too. —  Oh,  damn  these  clothes.  In  a 
moment  they  were  off  and  hurled  up  the  beach.  That 
was  better.  Slowly  he  walked  out  into  the  water.  He 
stood  thigh  deep  and  looked  at  his  own  reflection.  His 
five  fingers  he  rested  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  Five 
other  fingers  had  come  to  meet  them.  He  could  see  the 
reflections  of  the  stars  too.  A  moment  ago  he  had  felt 
like  plunging  in  and  splashing,  but  now  something 
checked  him.  He  moved  his  hands,  making  smooth 
ripples,  then  stood  still.  On  the  beach  he  could  hear 
the  land-crabs  scuttling  in  and  out  of  their  holes.     He 


THE     ISLAND  23 

had  not  heard  them  at  first  because  of  the  plash  of  the 
waves.     Now  he  heard  them  distinctly. 

He  waded  into  shallow  water  and  regarded  with  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  his  own  wet  legs  shining  in  the  moon- 
light. Then,  quite  unexpectedly,  he  felt  depressed.  He 
was  suddenly  conscious  of  an  ache  within  him.  It  was 
a  warm  smouldering  pain.  The  sea  beat  upon  the  land 
with  the  same  monotonous  plash,  but  both  sea  and  land 
were  changed.  They  had  become  incomplete,  and  he 
felt  fragmentary.  He  was  discontented  as  never  before, 
yet  tingling  with  excitement.  He  began  to  walk  along 
the  hard  sand  by  the  edge  of  the  waves.  For  a  while  he 
found  relief  in  quick  movement.  Then  he  paused  again, 
and,  looking  round  at  the  sea  and  sky,  found  them  ex- 
tremely empty.  They  had  become  different,  yet  their  will 
towards  him  was  the  same.  They  could  love  him  again 
if  they  were  complete,  but  something  was  lacking.  He 
walked  on  again,  puzzled,  and  soon  came  to  the  place 
where  a  host  of  crabs  were  devouring  the  remains  of  the 
stingaree.  He  thought  of  Coffee  and  of  his  fear  of 
devil-devils.  The  thought  pleased  him  —  it  brought  a 
new   interest. 

Inland,  the  dunes  rose  in  ridges  one  behind  the  other, 
covered  with  acacia  scrub.  He  picked  his  way  between 
the  low  bushes,  disturbing  tribes  of  wallabies  and  bandi- 
coots, which  made  great  squeaking  and  scuttling.  Soon 
he  reached  the  edge  of  the  flat  clearing  beyond  the  dunes. 
As  he  approached  the  solitary  hut  he  had  a  feeling  of 
awe,  mingled  with  a  hope  that  he  would  see  something 
strange.  Never  by  night  had  he  been  here  before,  and 
he  saw  for  the  first  time  what  a  bare,  ugly  spot  it  was. 
It  was  quite  cut  off  from  the  sea;   the  sand-dunes  en- 


24  THE    MAINLAND 

closed  it.  It  was  more  lonely  than  the  beach,  yet  he 
was  glad  to  be  there,  it  suited  his  mood.  He  crouched 
down  holding  his  knees.  For  an  hour,  he  sat  there  very 
still  and  silent,  watching  the  shadow  of  the  hut  shift  on 
the  white  sand  and  the  moon  sink  low  in  the  sky.  His 
feelings  changed  slowly.  He  had  lost  interest  in  devil- 
devils,  that  had  been  only  a  passing  whim,  of  which  he 
was  ashamed.  Now  he  was  cold  and  sleepy.  A  thin  mist 
hung  between  the  dunes.  He  shivered  and  stood  up, 
then  walked  in  the  direction  of  the  homestead  thinking 
with  pleasant  anticipation  of  his  bed. 

rv 

The  cutter  Shark  lay  at  her  moorings  off  the  landing- 
beach  of  Kanna  Island,  and  moved  almost  imperceptibly 
to  the  small  undulations  that  lapped  her  sides.  It  was 
afternoon,  and  the  sun  blazed  from  a  clear  sky.  Pomfrey 
had  hoisted  the  main-sail,  which  hung  motionless  in  the 
calm  air.  In  its  shadow  he  lounged  smoking.  His  eyes 
watched  the  shore,  and  followed  the  figure  of  John 
Sherwin  walking  along  the  beach.  He  smiled  as  he  saw 
the  youth  strip  and  wade  into  the  sea  and  begin  swimming 
out  in  his  direction.  John  swam  with  a  leisurely,  easy 
stroke,  and  soon  raised  his  dripping  sun-browned  body 
over  the  gunwale.  He  shook  the  water  out  of  his  hair 
and  squatted  near  Pomfrey's  feet.  "  You  haven't  told 
me  yet  what  you  think  of  my  skins,"  he  began. 

Pomfrey  eyed  him,  amused  and  phlegmatic.  "  Well, 
I  don't  say  you  haven't  a  fine  lot  of  them!  How  many 
did  you  say?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  forty-two,  and  the  smallest  more 
than  two  feet  wide." 


THEISLAND  25 

"  Of  course  you  might  sell  them,  but  I  don't  know  any- 
one on  this  coast  who'd  buy.  You  see  they  are  an  out- 
of-the-way  sort  of  thing  altogether.  There  was  a  German 
up  here  last  year  who  tried  to  start  a  turtle-canning  fac- 
tory; perhaps  he'd  have  bought  them.  He  had  an  eye 
open  for  odd  things.  They  should  have  a  value,  but  they 
are  out  of  the  run  of  ordinary  trade."  He  paused,  con- 
scious of  the  damping  effect  of  his  remarks,  then  added: 
"  You  must  have  worked  pretty  hard  to  get  all  that 
number.* 

"  Eighteen  months  —  and  now  I'm  going  to  the  main- 
land to  see  if  I  can't  do  something  with  them.  Anyway, 
I  shall  find  something  to  do  there.  I've  been  here  long 
enough." 

Pomfrey  chuckled,  "  You'll  have  to  have  your  hair  cut, 
my  lad,  and  you'll  have  to  wear  some  clothes  too.  And 
what  does  your  father  say?  Has  he  given  his  con- 
sent?" 

John  didn't  answer  for  a  moment,  then:  "  I  shall  go 
in  spite  of  father,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  stay  here  always. 
I'm  damned  if  I  will,"  he  added  with  quiet  intensity. 

"  What  reason  does  your  father  give  for  keeping  you?  " 

"  He  doesn't  give  any  reason.  He  just  gets  angry  and 
says  I've  everything  I  want  here." 

"  And  haven't  you?  " 

"  No." 

Pomfrey  spat  emphatically  into  the  sea  and  looked  with 
great  relish  and  amusement  at  the  young  man. 

"  I've  knocked  up  and  down  this  coast,  and  on  many 
other  coasts  too,  for  a  long  time  before  you  were  born, 
but  I've  never  met  such  a  queer  couple  as  you  and  your 
father.     A  man  gone  wild,  clean  away  from  all  the  rest 


26  THE     MAINLAND 

and  his  son  like  him.  How  old  are  you?  Seventeen. 
Well,  your  father  has  been  on  this  island  for  twenty 
years  and  never  to  the  mainland  all  that  time.  It's 
strange  that  he  wants  to  keep  you  here." 

"What  made  my  father  come  here  first?  " 

"  There  was  a  hospital  for  natives,  like  there  is  on 
Fenton  now.  Your  father  used  to  keep  the  stock.  Dr. 
Hicksey,  he  was  boss  here,  and  your  mother  was  matron. 
The  doctor  and  your  father  were  a  queerly  matched  couple, 
and  your  mother  too."     He  chuckled  at  recollections. 

"  Tell  me  about  the  doctor?     When  did  he  go?  " 

"  No,  my  boy,  it's  not  for  me  to  tell  you  all  that  old 
story,  and  I  don't  to  this  day  know  the  rights  and  wrongs 
of  it,  but  there  have  been  queer  happenings  on  this  island, 
mighty  queer.  When  the  doctor  was  here,  things  were 
not  as  they  are  now." 

"  Tell  me,  do  tell  me  about  it.  What  happened  to  the 
doctor?  " 

"  He's  dead,"  admitted  Pomfrey. 

"How  did  he  die?     When?" 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  for  me  to  say  anything,"  said  Pomfrey 
meditatively,  "  but  it's  queer  that  your  father's  so  set 
against  your  going  to  the  mainland." 

"Why's  that,  do  you  think?" 

Pomfrey,  who  had  been  gazing  into  the  sea  for  the 
last  few  seconds,  raised  his  little  blue  eyes  to  the  young 
man's  face.  "  He  can't  expect  to  keep  you  here  always 
can  he?  Then  most  boys  of  your  age  have  gone  to  school 
and  have  learnt  to  read  and  write  and  know  something 
about  money  too.  Why,  if  you  were  over  in  Kaimera 
they'd  think  you  were  a  savage,  an  aborigine." 

"  Why  doesn't  my  father  let  me  go?  " 


THE     ISLAND  27 

"  Maybe  he  thinks  that  things  are  just  as  well  as  they 
are,  and  he's  no  mind  to  alter  them." 

"  What  is  it  you  mean?  "  said  John  exasperated. 

Pomfrey  again  raised  his  eyes  to  the  boy's  face,  then 
looked  back  at  the  sea  and  spat.  After  a  short  silence 
the  old  man  asked: 

11  When  you  go  swimming  about  these  bays,  do  you  see 
many  sharks?  " 

"  A  good  many." 

"  Do  they  sniff  about  at  all?  " 

"  No,  not  much,  sometimes  they  are  a  little  inquisi- 
tive." 

"  Are  you  frightened  of  them?  " 

"  No,  they're  quite  harmless  and  frightened  at  any 
splash." 

"  The  doctor  who  used  to  be  here  on  these  islands  was 
eaten  by  sharks  they  say.  He  was  a  great  swimmer  and 
afraid  of  nothing.  I  remember  when  I  first  brought  him 
to  the  island  he  dived  in  just  here  and  brought  up  my 
anchor  that  I  had  lost." 

"  That's  not  much  of  a  dive,"  said  John  peering  down. 

"No?  But  he  was  town  bred.  ...  A  fine  swimmer 
and  hard  to  kill,  I  should  think." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  fool  to  let  the  sharks  get  him. 
They  are  as  timid  as  boody-rats." 

"  Are  they  now,"  mused  Pomfrey.  "  And  what  if  the 
sharks  didn't  kill  him?  There  was  a  time  when  he  and 
your  mother  were  mighty  taken  up  with  one  another." 

John  crimsoned.     "  Why  do  you  say  all  this?  " 

Again  Pomfrey's  eyes  twinkled.  "  Well,  when  a  man 
wants  to  get  a  woman,  he  will  do  some  odd  things  to  get 
her,  and  take  a  lot  of  trouble  too  —  even  kill  a  hundred 


28  THE     MAINLAND 

and  forty-two  stingaree  and  dry  their  skins  in  the  sun." 

John  looked  at  the  old  man  with  wide  eyes.  For  a 
moment  he  wondered  what  a  woman  could  have  to  do 
with  stingaree;  then,  as  the  ripples  spread  from  a  stone 
thrown  into  a  pool,  he  became  conscious  that  the  idea  of 
woman  was  already  of  importance  —  how  big  an  impor- 
tance he  couldn't  guess.  The  ripples  spread  outward  in 
a  great  arc,  which  in  the  distance  diffused  into  clouds 
of  mist  stretching  to  the  wide  horizon  —  infinite.  Pom- 
frey's  words  brought  him  back  with  a  jerk. 

"  I  mean  no  harm  to  any  of  you,  my  lad.  But  you're 
growing  up  and  should  know  the  ways  of  life,  and  if 
your  father  did  do  for  the  doctor  one  fine  night  (and  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  did)  I  think  no  worse  of  him, 
but  give  him  the  credit  for  his  pluck.  I  can  keep  my 
own  counsel,  no  fear  about  that,  and  of  the  two  I  always 
liked  your  father  best.  The  doctor  —  well,  he  was  a 
clever  fellow,  but  as  cold  as  a  fish,  as  cold  as  a  fish." 

"  You  think  my  father  killed  him,"  said  John  slowly, 
puzzled  and  almost  stupefied  by  the  clash  of  ideas. 

"  I  don't  say  I  think  he  killed  him,  but  I  think  he 
might  have  killed  him,  seeing  what  hot-tempered  men  they 
both  were.  And  then  it  isn't  natural  for  two  men  to  live 
alone  on  an  island  where  there's  only  one  woman.  As  I 
say,  the  doctor  was  hard-hearted  and  cold,  a  difficult  man 
to  get  on  with." 

"  And  if  he  did  kill  him,  what  difference  does  it 
make?  "  asked  John,  still  puzzled. 

"  To  you  and  me  it  makes  no  difference  —  he  knows 
I'm  his  friend.  But  over  there,"  he  jerked  his  head  to- 
wards the  mainland,  "  it  means  hanging.  Mind  you,  I 
don't  say  he  did  it,  but  it  has  crossed  my  mind  before  now 


THEISLAND  29 

that  he  might  have  done  it,  and  that  being  the  case,  it 
would  account  for  his  keeping  so  much  to  the  island  and 
wanting  to  keep  you  here  too." 

"Why  should  he  want  to  keep  me?  I'd  never  tell, 
even  if  he  had." 

"  I  suppose  it's  like  this  —  he  thinks  things  are  safe  now 
and  wants  to  keep  them  just  as  they  are  without  change." 

John  impulsively  started  to  speak,  then  checked  him- 
self, and  for  some  minutes  they  both  remained  silent. 
Pomfrey  sucked  unconcernedly  at  his  pipe.  The  boy 
meditated,  staring  at  his  hands  and  brown  arms,  at  the 
white  deck,  at  the  sea,  and  finally  at  the  sky.  The  blue 
clear  water,  the  white  line  of  the  beach  with  the  tumbled 
sand-dunes  behind,  and  the  over-arching  vault  of  the 
sky  were  silent  and  yet  expressive.  To  both  the  man 
and  the  boy  they  were  the  end  and  the  beginning,  they 
contained  all  things;  and  in  their  expressive  silence  they 
registered  impartially  the  fact,  or  the  supposition,  of 
murder. 

"  Anyway,"  said  John  at  length,  "I'm  not  going  to 
stay  here  always.  I  mean  to  go  to  the  mainland.  Will 
you  take  me?  " 

Pomfrey  shook  his  head.  "  Not  without  the  boss's 
orders." 

"  Then  will  you  speak  for  me?     Tell  him  I  must  go!  " 

"  I  have  said  a  word  or  two  to  him  already,  but  he's 
not  an  easy  man  to  argue  with." 

"Have  you  asked  him  that  I  might  go?  " 

The  old  man  grunted. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  John  embarrassed.  "  I  never 
knew."  Then  after  a  short  pause:  "  He'll  let  me  go  in 
the  end.     Mother  says  that  he's  sure  to,  that  he  can't 


30  THE     MAINLAND 

help  it But  I  get  —  longing,  longing  to  go.  .  .  .  " 

Then  after  a  pause,  this  time  a  longer  one :     "  Do  men 
often  kill  men?  " 

Pomfrey  smiled  at  the  naive  question.  This  absence 
of  education  and  of  the  simplest  knowledge  was  a  source 
of  great  amusement. 

"  I've  known  some  five  cases,  not  counting  black  men," 
he  said. 

"  What  happened  to  them?  " 

"  Two  of  them  was  hung.  One  took  to  the  bush  and 
hasn't  been  heard  of  since.  Another,  old  Morat,  who 
killed  a  brace  of  niggers,  you  can  see  on  the  beach  of 
Kaimera  any  day,  and  the  last  —  oh  he's  quite  a  fancy 
gent,  got  a  house  in  Perth,  and  married  a  rich  wife.  He 
made  his  pile  up  on  the  pearl  coast." 

"  That's  where  I  want  to  go.  Do  you  think  they'd 
take  me  as  a  diver?  " 

"  Maybe.  You're  as  good  as  any  black  boy  I've  seen 
at  the  job;  but  it's  a  dog's  life  —  not  for  a  white  man." 

From  the  beach  a  halloa  was  sounded  and  John's  name 
was  called  across  the  water.  Sherwin's  burly  figure  was 
seen  waving  a  signal  from  the  verandah  of  the  house. 

"  I  have  to  help  father  with  some  sheep,"  explained 
John,  "  I  forgot.  Thank  you  for  speaking  to  him.  I'll 
ask  him  again  soon."  Without  troubling  to  stand  up  and 
dive  he  slipped  over  the  side  of  the  boat  and  swam  to- 
wards the  shore. 

v 
The  work  with  the  sheep  did  not  take  very  long,  but 
the  sun  was  setting  by  the  time  father  and  son  walked 
back  towards  the  homestead.     John  saw  that  his  father 


THE     ISLAND  31 

was  on  the  whole  in  a  good  mood,  and  he  decided  to  make 
a  bid  for  liberty.  He  plunged  straight  to  the  heart  of 
the  difficulty. 

"  Father,  I  want  to  go  to  the  mainland.  I've  got  a 
hundred  and  forty-two  stingaree  skins  that  I  want  to  trade 
with." 

Sherwin's  face  darkened  immediately.  The  boy  looked 
at  his  father  very  critically  as  he  waited  in  suspense.  He 
remembered  how  afraid  he  used  to  be  of  that  look,  but 
now  he  had  no  fear,  and  he  thought  that  in  the  end  his 
father  would  yield.  There  was  a  great  strength  in  his 
father's  face  and  a  kind  of  honest  stupidity;  he  loved  him 
for  being  just  as  he  was.  He  hated  to  go  against  his 
father  but  yet  had  to  do  so  for  the  sake  of  his  own  life. 
He  tried  to  think  of  his  father  killing  a  man.  It  was  just 
remotely  possible.  But  how  deeply  he  would  have  to  be 
moved  for  that!  It  would  not  be  done  lightly.  Perhaps 
to  protect  his  son  or  his  wife,  but  for  no  slight  thing. 
John  could  read  his  present  scowl;  it  was  part  real  annoy- 
ance, and  part  the  habit  of  the  dominating  head  of  the 
household.  He  felt  very  drawn  to  his  father  while  thus 
opposing  him. 

"To  trade  with  stingaree  skins?"  Sherwin  sneered. 
"  They're  worth  nothing.     Who's  going  to  buy  them  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  shall  find  some  one.  Pomfrey 
will  take  them  in  the  cutter  for  me." 

"  So  you've  been  talking  to  Pomfrey?     The  old  fool!  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  you  don't  even  know  the  value  of  money." 

"  That's  partly  why  I  want  to  go.  I  shall  learn.  I 
don't  learn  anything  here." 

Sherwin  remained  silent,  red  in  the  face  and  gloomy. 


32  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Father,  Pomfrey  won't  take  me  unless  you  tell  him. 
I  must  go.     Please  let  me  go." 

"  So  you've  asked  him  already,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  silence  as  they  trudged  on  over  the  shifting, 
light  sand.  Then  Sherwin  said  gruffly,  "  You  can  bide  a 
bit  longer." 

"  You  always  say  that.  Eighteen  months  ago  I  was 
to  wait  a  year.  Now  I  want  to  go  at  once.  Tomorrow, 
when  Pomfrey  sails." 

"  Hold  your  mouth." 

"  I  won't,"  cried  John,  stung  to  anger.  "  I  will  talk 
and  I  will  go.  I'm  not  afraid,  and  if  I  can't  go  by  the 
cutter   I   shall   swim." 

"  You  fool,"  said  Sherwin,  getting  a  deeper  red.  "  It's 
thirty  miles  and  a  strong  current." 

"  I  don't  care;  then  I  shall  drown." 

Sherwin  stopped  in  his  stride  and  faced  his  son. 

"  See  here.  I've  had  enough  of  this  nonsense.  Shut 
down,  drop  it.     Not  another  word." 

John  was  defiant  with  unflinching  eyes.  "  I  shall  go. 
I  don't  care,  I  shall  go." 

Sherwin's  hand  swung  out  in  a  half  circle  and  caught 
the  boy  on  the  ear,  sending  him  flying.  John  felt  chiefly 
surprise  at  finding  his  face  and  hands  in  the  sand,  then 
anger  flared  in  his  heart  so  that  it  nearly  burst.  He 
scrambled  up  and  with  clenched  fist  made  for  his  father. 
But  at  the  first  step  he  stumbled  and  came  down,  kneeling 
on  the  sand.  Something  was  roaring  through  his  head; 
he  felt  sick  and  was  trembling. 

Sherwin  regarded  him  for  a  few  seconds,  then  catching 
his  elbow,  lifted  him  to  his  feet. 


THEISLAND  33 

"  Can  you  stand  now,  boy?  "  he  asked.  John  nodded, 
the  roaring  was  still  in  his  ears.  "  Now,  no  more  of  this 
nonsense.     You  can  walk  on  home." 

With  an  effort  John  could  just  hold  his  balance;  he 
freed  his  arm  from  his  father's  support  with  an  angry 
gesture.     They  walked  back  in  silence  side  by  side. 

VI 

At  the  evening  meal  few  words  were  spoken.  That 
there  was  angry  blood  between  her  two  men  Alice  saw 
at  once,  and  she  was  careful,  fearing  another  outburst, 
to  speak  only  of  superficial  things.  Sherwin  ate  fast  in 
large  mouthfuls  with  sullen  looks.  John,  equally  sullen, 
ate  nothing,  but  drank  several  cups  of  tea.  The  situation 
was  difficult  for  him,  it  was  unusual,  never  before  had 
there  been  such  tension.  He  had  never  come  so  near  to 
hating  his  father,  but  even  now  part  of  his  mind  was 
trying  to  excuse  him,  though  the  other  part,  and  that  was 
master,  was  adamant,  and  full  of  rage.  Sure  of  his 
mother's  sympathy,  he  longed  for  her  support,  but  honour 
bound  him  from  saying  a  word.  If  it  were  any  other 
trouble  he  could  go  to  her,  but  against  his  father  he 
could  never  speak.  It  would  spoil  for  him  both  his  idea 
of  himself  and  of  his  mother,  if  together  they  condemned 
his  father's  unjust  actions.  Instinct  and  habit  held  him 
true  here ;  there  had  never  been  and  never  could  be  factions 
among  them :  the  many  years  of  isolated  life  on  the  island 
bound  them  fast  together.  His  father  was  almost  a  part 
of  himself,  a  part  to  be  striven  with  and  opposed,  but  not 
to  be  hated;  and  if  he  must  strive  now  for  freedom,  he 
could  do  it  all  himself.  He  didn't  need  help,  for  he 
knew  that  he  would  never  submit  to  tyranny. 


34  THE    MAINLAND 

After  supper  it  was  usual  for  John  to  help  his  mother 
wash-up  while  Sherwin  sat  and  smoked  on  the  verandah. 
It  was  this  solitary  companionship  with  his  mother  that 
he  now  wished  to  avoid,  for  he  knew  that  she  would  then 
question  him;  besides  he  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  far, 
far  away  from  his  father  whom  he  would  not  be  in  such 
danger  of  hating  at  a  distance.  Yet,  if  he  rose  to  go  out, 
his  father  would  probably  call  him  back,  and  this  would 
make  him  feel  more  angry  than  ever.  He  was  saved  from 
this  danger  by  Sherwin's  walking  out  on  to  the  verandah 
and  calling  to  Alice  to  fetch  him  his  tobacco.  John  seized 
the  opportunity,  and  running  out  of  the  back  door,  made 
for  the  sand-dunes  and  the  bushes. 

When  Alice  returned,  she  found  the  kitchen  empty. 
For  a  moment  she  hesitated  as  to  whether  she  should  men- 
tion the  boy's  absence  to  her  husband  or  whether  she 
should  wait.  She  thought  she  understood  his  desire  to  be 
away  by  himself,  it  would  be  better  to  let  him  be  alone,  and 
easier  perhaps  to  talk  with  her  husband  if  he  were  the 
first  to  notice  the  boy's  absence.  She  decided  to  wait. 
Later,  when  she  had  finished  washing-up  and  drying  the 
supper  plates  she  came  and  sat  beside  Sherwin  on  the 
verandah.  In  the  gathering  darkness  she  could  not  see 
his  face  clearly,  but  she  at  once  felt  that  he  was  still  in 
a  gloomy  and  depressed  mood,  so  she  sat  near  him  and 
did  not  speak.     After  a  while,  he  asked: 

"  Where's  John  got  to?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  he  went  off  by  himself." 

"  Did  he  say  anything?  " 

"  No." 

There  was  silence  again  for  some  minutes,  then  she 


THEISLAND  35 

said:  "Tell  me,  John,  what  is  it  that's  happened?" 
Sherwin  puckered  his  brow  and  stared  out  into  the 
night.  "  I  hit  him,"  he  said.  Alice  remained  silent,  sit- 
ting very  still.  Then  after  another  pause,  "  He  defied 
me." 

Alice  was  tempted  to  question  but  checked  herself, 
knowing  that  if  she  kept  silence  the  whole  story  would 
come  out.  She  felt  an  extraordinary  wave  of  love  for  her 
two  men,  and  pity  for  both,  especially  for  the  angry  and 
remorseful  spirit  that  was  now  struggling  to  tell  the  story 
of  his  fear  and  weakness. 

His  voice  began  speaking  into  the  darkness  and  she 
listened,  thrilled,  knowing  that  he  would  speak  of  that 
subject  which  had  never  been  spoken  of  since  the  night 
he  had  first  claimed  her  there  on  the  verandah.  "  He 
wants  to  go  to  the  mainland. —  It's  natural  he  should 
want  to  go,  but  I  —  I  hate  all  that  over  there  —  all  that  we 
have  left  —  that  misery.  .  .  .  Things  go  so  well  here  as 
they  are.  .  .  .  One  never  knows  what  might  come  out. 
People  seeing  the  boy  might  ask  questions  —  some  damned 
fool  come  nosing  about.  They'd  talk  to  him,  perhaps  put 
him  against  us.  They  might  —  they  would  talk  about 
him.  ...  It  may  be  fancy,  but  I  wish  the  lad  could  stay 
here."  Again  he  was  silent.  "  My  God,  I've  never  felt 
it  like  this  before."     The  words  came  in  pain,  "  But  the 

land   over   there "   he   stretched   out   his   hand    and 

moved  it  in  a  wide  arc,  "  it  seems  to  be  tainted  —  I  want 
no  link  with  it. —  We've  been  happy  here,  Alice,  and  he's 
been  happy.  If  he  goes,  he'll  forget  his  happiness,  forget 
how  to  be  happy.  They'll  get  hold  of  him  and  he'll  for- 
get —  and  that  story,  he's  sure  to  hear  some  of  it.  ...  I 


36  THE    MAINLAND 

don't  say  it's  so  very  likely,  but  anything  might  come  out." 

Again  the  silence  of  the  night,  now  quite  dark,  settled 
upon  them. 

Alice  laid  a  hand  on  her  man's  sleeve.  "  But,  John, 
he  must  go  sometime  —  and  soon.  For  more  than  a  year 
he  has  been  longing  to  go.  See  how  he's  worked  at  his 
skins.  Think  how  it  was  with  you  while  you  were  here 
alone.  He  must  go,  if  only  to  find  a  wife;  he's  restless. 
You  must  let  him  go.  As  for  the  other,  that  will  never 
come  out.  It's  too  long  dead.  The  boy  is  to  be  trusted, 
and  if  there  is  a  risk  we  must  take  that.  There's  not 
much.  He'll  soon  be  lost  in  the  crowd.  He  must  have  his 
life,  and  the  life  of  youth.  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  may  come 
back  to  us,  perhaps  go  back  to  all  that  we  have  left.  He's 
a  good  boy,  and  I  too  wish  that  he  could  stay  always." 

Sherwin  bent  his  face  in  his  hands,  then  suddenly  rais- 
ing his  head:  "  Alice,  I  dread  the  mainland.  We  have 
been  too  lucky  to  escape  it  all  —  all  the  beastliness  and 
dirt  of  it."  He  paused,  hoping  that  Alice  would  speak, 
but  she  said  nothing.  Then,  after  listening  for  a  while 
to  the  soft  noises  of  the  night,  "  If  he  must  go,  when  is 
it  to  be?" 

"Oh  soon!  Tomorrow,  if  Pomfrey  sails.  After  this 
it  is  better." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  tell  him." 

Alice  checked  the  wave  of  warm  feeling  that  rose  in  her 
heart,  knowing  that  any  show  of  it  now  would  be  resented. 
She  felt  that  he  must  have  the  triumph  and  proud  bitter- 
ness of  his  victory  alone.  He  stood  up,  and  for  a  moment 
took  her  hand  in  his,  squeezed  it  hard,  then  quickly  turned 
and  walked  down  the  verandah  steps  out  into  the  night. 

He  had  no  immediate  desire  to  find  his  son,  though 


THEISLAND  37 

that  possibility  was  in  his  mind,  but  he  too  wanted  to  be 
alone,  to  feel  the  air  wide  and  open  to  his  lungs,  and  to 
move  over  the  earth  quickly.  Happiness  and  pain  min- 
gled in  him,  his  fear  was  almost  dead;  life  was  again 
as  in  youth,  urging  him  with  strong  purpose.  The  depths 
of  his  soul  moved,  and  the  new  resolve  came  out  of  the 
depth  with  exultation.  Under  the  dark  dome  of  the  sky 
he  could  feel  free  and  untrammelled,  and  in  the  familiar 
and  yet  ever  strange  quality  of  the  night  his  body  and 
senses  were  touched  to  harmony. 

vn 

After  John  had  escaped  from  the  house,  he  ran  steadily 
towards  the  north  of  the  island.  At  first  he  wanted  sim- 
ply to  get  away  and  to  avoid  any  chance  of  being  called 
back,  but  later  he  ran  for  the  feeling  of  power  that  it  pro- 
duced and  because  he  found  pleasure  in  the  sure  and 
steady  movements  of  limbs.  For  only  a  short  distance  had 
he  kept  inland  under  the  cover  of  the  bushes,  he  had  then 
made  for  the  shore  where  the  sand  was  smooth;  he  ran 
where  it  was  hardest,  just  at  the  limit  of  the  waves,  some- 
times splashing  in  and  out  of  shallow  pools.  He  knew 
that  for  more  than  six  miles  the  island  stretched  north- 
ward. There  was  space  in  front  of  him,  and  he  needed 
to  be  far  away  where  he  could  think  and  plan  by  himself. 

After  some  three  miles  he  stopped  running,  prepared 
now  to  think  out  his  problem  and  his  means  of  freedom. 
He  walked  on  quickly,  still  anxious  to  put  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  his  father.  He  was  rebellious,  the 
island  seemed  stale  to  him.  All  the  little  and  familiar 
things  that  it  contained  he  knew,  and  they  had  ceased  to 
be  satisfying.     He  now  desired  bigger  adventures  than 


38  THE     MAINLAND 

diving  after  turtle  or  fish-spearing.  With  his  stingaree 
skins  he  believed  he  could  do  great  things;  but  if  his 
father  would  not  let  him  go  and  take  them  with  him,  then 
he  would  go  without  them.  But  how?  The  idea  of 
swimming  all  the  way  was  ludicrous;  drowning  would 
be  the  certain  result.  He  must  get  Pomfrey  to  take  him, 
but  that  would  be  difficult.  As  he  walked  on,  thoughts 
came  quickly  and  a  plan  of  action  presented  itself.  In 
the  morning  he  would  wait  till  Pomfrey  was  almost  ready 
to  start  for  Kaimera,  then  he  would  slip  into  the  sea  un- 
noticed and  swim  out  far  from  the  coast  and  wait  for 
Pomfrey  in  mid-sea.  He  would  then  swim  to  the  boat 
and  persuade  the  old  man  to  take  him  on  board.  All 
would  be  well  in  that  he  would  get  to  the  mainland  and 
evade  his  father,  but  he  was  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  say 
good-bye  to  his  mother.  This  thought  worried  him,  but 
it  was  not  sufficiently  an  obstacle  to  make  him  hold  back. 
A  message  could  be  sent  by  Pomfrey.  But  why,  why, 
couldn't  his  father  let  him  go?  This  was  impossible  to 
understand.  Then  for  a  little  he  wondered  whether  his 
father  had  killed  the  doctor  as  Pomfrey  had  hinted,  but 
this  line  of  thought  didn't  much  interest  him,  and  he  had 
no  doubt  that,  if  it  were  so,  the  doctor  thoroughly  deserved 
killing. 

Before  long  he  came  to  where  the  sand-dunes  break 
away  to  the  narrow  spit  of  land  which  forms  the  northern- 
most cape  of  the  island.  He  walked  now  more  slowly, 
sometimes  plashing  in  and  out  of  the  water;  and  then 
as  the  mood  took  him  treading  very  silently  the  dry  sand. 
Pomfrey's  words  about  man's  desire  to  seek  for  women 
came  to  his  mind.  That  was,  perhaps,  part  of  what  now 
urged  him  to  go.     Not  before  had  he  thought  definitely 


THEISLAND  39 

of  this,  but  he  could  now  admit  that  he  had  long  wished 
to  meet  women.  He  would  be  afraid  of  them  and  very 
nervous,  or  else,  he  imagined,  very  bold;  his  fear  would 
compel  him  to  be  near  them,  eager  for  encounters.  He 
thought  of  exciting  meetings  and  absurd  and  romantic 
affinities.  Such  dreams,  very  vague  for  the  most  part, 
he  had  often  dreamed,  now  he  believed  that  they  might 
become  true. 

There  was  satisfaction  in  having  come  to  the  end  of 
the  land.  The  place  was  lonely  and  wild;  the  sea  on 
three  sides  and  the  deep  sky  overhead.  Gentle  plashing 
of  waves  was  the  only  sound.  In  this  solitude  his  imagi- 
nation could  almost  see  himself;  he  could  talk  to  himself 
as  to  a  person  whom  he  loved  and  wished  to  understand. 
Ah,  wonderful  air  of  the  night  enveloping  everything, 
fertile  with  the  promises  of  growth,  covering  and  with- 
holding thousands  of  desires  and  the  seeds  of  desire. 
The  womanliness  of  existence  was  about  him  in  the  night, 
soft  and  full  of  mystery. 

Close  along  the  break  of  the  waves  there  was  a  white 
ridge  composed  of  small  fragments  of  broken  shells.  This 
ridge  was  touched  by  the  moonlight  and  shone  brightly. 
Along  its  edge  John  walked  up  and  down.  He  walked 
to  its  extremity  and  then  turned  and  walked  back.  Again 
and  again  he  paced  its  length,  sometimes  pausing  to  look 
out  to  sea  over  the  moon-dappled  waters,  then  pacing 
again  the  line  of  the  beach  with  eyes  bent,  as  if  mes- 
merized by  its  whiteness.  There  was  only  a  faint  breeze 
and  the  night  was  very  still.  A  gentle  silence  hung  over 
the  land.  The  boy  on  the  beach  and  the  waves  that 
broke  at  his  feet  were  alone  restless.  Never  tiring,  the 
waves  broke  against  the  shore,  building  and  destroying 


40  THE     MAINLAND 

the  line  of  fragments  upon  which  he  walked.  Once  he 
stopped  and  dipped  his  hands  in  the  water  which  was 
warm  as  his  own  blood.  It  was  warm  with  life,  and  the 
forces  within  him  were  akin  to  that  response.  He  had 
come  to  the  limits  of  the  land,  beyond  him  was  the 
ever-moving  and  passionate  sea. 

vm 

It  was  past  midnight  when  John  struck  homewards 
over  the  sand-dunes,  making  the  shortest  route  across 
the  inland  plateau  of  the  island.  When  within  about  a 
mile  of  the  house  he  suddenly  halted,  feeling  that  he 
was  observed.  He  looked  quickly  about  him,  and,  at  the 
same  moment  that  he  saw  his  father  standing  near  some 
high  bushes,  he  heard  his  name  called.  He  stood  still, 
making  no  response.  He  was  not  now  in  the  least  nerv- 
ous or  embarrassed;  the  long  run  across  country  had 
opened  his  lungs,  so  that  every  sense  in  his  body  was 
in  tone,  but  mingled  with  the  sense  of  youthful  power 
was  the  germ  of  a  new  interest  in  his  father  and  a 
wonderment  about  his  night  wanderings. 

Sherwin  advanced  with  something  of  a  frown,  his  eyes 
very  hard  on  his  son's  face.  He  spoke  abruptly  in  a 
voice  harsh  and  deliberate.  "  I  ask  your  pardon,  John, 
I  should  not  have  hit  you.  It's  right  and  natural  for 
you  to  want  to  go,  and  I'll  tell  Pomfrey  in  the  morning 
that  he  can  wait  a  bit  and  load  up  your  skins." 

The  boy  was  not  expecting  this.  It  was  the  one  blow 
he  was  not  prepared  for.  They  stood  dumbly  for  a 
while,  neither  of  them  able  to  speak.  Then  Sherwin  in 
the  same  rough  voice  went  on:  "Before  you  go,  I've 
something  to  say  to  you.     Come  with  me  now,  I  can  best 


THE     ISLAND  41 

tell  what  I've  to  say  at  the  place  where  the  thing  was 
done."  He  abruptly  turned  and  led  the  way  through 
the  scrub  that  grew  high  and  thick.  They  went  on  in 
silence  down  a  narrow  ravine  that  opened  on  the  clearing 
in  which  the  fishing-hut  stood.  Outside  the  hut  Sherwin 
checked  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it.  John  watched 
him,  awed  by  his  manner. 

"  It's  twenty  years  since  I've  been  to  the  mainland," 
he  began,  "  and  if  I  live  twenty  more  I  shall  never  go 
again.  Over  there  I've  no  place,  and  your  mother  has 
no  place."  Then  after  a  pause,  his  eyes  fiercely  holding 
his  son's  in  the  dim  light,  "  Eighteen  years  ago  I  killed 
a  man  in  this  hut  here.  It  was  done  in  fair  fight,  man 
to  man.  I  have  no  regrets,  and  my  conscience  is  clear. 
On  the  mainland,  if  they  knew  it,  they'd  hang  me  with- 
out question,  and  your  mother  they'd  hound  into  the 
streets  to  get  her  bread  as  best  she  could,  or  starve." 
Sherwin's  voice  rang  with  a  bitter,  angry  note.  John 
had  never  known  his  father  like  this;  he  felt  a  tremen- 
dous admiration,  a  living  sympathy,  gratitude  and  pride 
in  this  confidence.  "  I  have  no  regrets,"  Sherwin  re- 
peated. "  In  this  hut.  ...  I  visit  it  nearly  every  day. 
...  I  keep  my  things  here.  Coffee,  he's  a  sav- 
age and  frightened  of  devils.     He  knows.  ...     He  was 

here  and  is  afraid.     In  there  I  killed  him I  find 

the  place  convenient  and  I  have  no  remorse.  And  it's  not 
fear  that  keeps  me  away  from  the  mainland.  If  I  wanted 
to  go,  I  should  go  and  take  the  risks.  I  stay  here  because 
here  I  have  all  that  I  need :  a  good  wife,  work,  this  island 
which  is  my  own  and  which  I  love,  and  contentment. 
Over  there  is  everything  that  I  hate  —  restlessness,  greed, 
drink,  the  hunt  for  women  and  gold,  hypocrisy,  every- 


42  THE     MAINLAND 

thing  to  prevent  happiness.  .  .  .  That's  what  I  found 
it.  Here  I  have  a  home,  you  know  what  kind,  and  you've 
been  happy.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  it's  natural  you  should  want  to  go.  I  can  see 
that.  I  was  against  it,  because  such  happiness  as  I  have 
had  is  too  rare.  I  wanted  things  to  go  on  as  they  were. 
.  .  .  You'll  hear  stories  perhaps  of  the  doctor  and  of 
the  past  time.  .  .  .  When  they  see  you,  they  will  talk. 
No  one  knows  what  happened,  but  they  will  invent. 
Don't  listen  to  it,  my  son.  Be  content  to  let  that  rest. 
I  shall  not  tell  you  either.  There  was  great  misery  for 
your  mother,  and  she  would  not  wish  it  told.  What  I've 
said  is  enough.  You  carry  my  life  in  your  hand;  don't 
wish  to  find  out  more,  but  I  can  swear  before  God  that  I 
have  no  regrets,  and  that  I  would  do  what  I  have  done 
again  in  the  same  cause.  If  I  had  sinned,  I  should  not 
have  been  happy  as  I  have  been.     Do  you  understand?  " 

John's  emotion  was  too  great  for  him  to  speak.  With 
eyes  full  of  tears  he  nodded  in  affirmation.  This  secret 
that  he  carried  was  like  a  treasure  of  infinite  price,  a  trust 
never  to  be  betrayed.  By  this  confidence  his  father  had 
raised  him  to  equality,  given  him  a  dignity  beyond  his 
years.  His  father's  soul  had  been  bared  to  him.  He 
wondered  at,  without  understanding,  the  past  pains  and 
fires  whose  embers  now  glowed  in  the  blackness. 

Sherwin  continued,  his  voice  now  not  harsh,  but  deep 
and  full.  "  I  wish  for  your  mother's  sake  that  there  had 
been  other  children.  She'll  miss  you  badly,  so  shall  I. 
...  On  the  mainland  you  will  find  yourself  behind 
in  many  things.  There's  money  and  learning.  .  .  . 
Well,  you'll  pick  up  enough  to  get  on  with  —  and  women 


THEISLAND  43 

—  you'll  be  after  the  women  for  sure.  When  you've  been 
through  with  enough  of  them,  and  there's  little  you'll  find 
in  most,  get  a  simple  woman  like  your  mother  for  your 
wife,  one  country  bred,  no  town  woman.  A  man  to  be 
happy  must  have  a  wife.  Then  maybe  if  you're  sick  of 
the  rottenness  over  there,  you  can  come  back  here  and 
bring  your  wife,  and  give  your  mother  some  grandchildren 
to  lighten  her  age.  But  this  you  must  never  do:  no  trips 
to  and  fro  with  town  friends.  That's  partly  why  I've 
spoken  tonight.     Do  you  promise?  " 

"  Yes,  I  promise,"  said  John,  "  but  may  I  come  back 
alone?" 

"  If  you  need  to,  not  otherwise  —  unless  you  should 
mean  to  stay." 

Sherwin  took  a  few  paces  up  and  down.  It  was  quite 
dark  and  the  moon  had  set.  John  longed  to  be  able  to 
speak  something  of  the  love  and  gratitude  of  his  heart, 
but  not  even  under  the  cover  of  the  darkness  of  the  night 
was  he  able  to  find  any  words.  At  last  he  brought  out 
an  inadequate  "  Thank  you  "  as  the  sum  of  his  emotions. 

"  Thank  your  mother,  boy,  it  was  she  who  brought  me 
to  see  that  you  must  go;  but  of  what  I've  told  you  — 
not  a  word  to  her.  She  knows  it  all  of  course,  but  never 
speak  of  it." 

Then  changing  his  tone,  "  In  the  morning  I'll  fit  you 
up  with  some  clothes  and  some  money  that  I've  put  by 
and  that  you  can  make  a  start  on;  and  I  daresay  Pomfrey 
will  give  you  advice  as  to  how  best  to  behave  in  Kaimera. 
.  .  .  We'll  get  those  skins  aboard.  Don't  be  too  much 
in  a  hurry  to  sell  them,  they  may  be  of  more  value  than 
either  of  us  reckon." 


44  THE     MAINLAND 

John  still  found  nothing  to  say  as  they  walked  towards 
the  house;  he  was  not  able  to  express  his  feelings  in 
words  and  not  willing  to  talk  of  material  details. 

Sherwin  chatted  for  a  short  time  of  tomorrow's  pros- 
pects; then  he  too  became  silent,  unable  to  sustain  the 
weight  of  such  fleeting  things.  They  walked  home  to- 
gether side  by  side  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE   PORT    OF    KAIMERA 


A  SQUALID  row  of  bedrooms  enclosed  the  yard 
of  Flynn's  Hotel,  Kaimera.  They  had  been 
built  by  Flynn  and  his  son  to  suit  the  require- 
ments of  a  growing  establishment,  and  consisted  of  cor- 
rugated iron  and  hessian  nailed  to  uprights  and  then  pro- 
fusely whitewashed  inside  and  out.  In  one  of  these 
rooms  John  Sherwin  spent  his  first  night  on  the  mainland. 
He  had  come  there  with  Pomfrey,  who  was  to  keep  him 
under  his  charge  till  some  promising  opening  was  found. 
After  the  excitement  of  the  day,  John  was  heartily 
glad  to  be  now  by  himself,  able  to  review  his  recent  ex- 
perience. The  time  had  been  long  and  crowded,  con- 
taining, for  the  grown  youth,  a  thousand  impressions, 
such  as  usually  are  absorbed  by  the  slow  growth  of 
childhood.  In  the  early  morning  he  had  rushed  down  to 
the  beach  and  had  swum  out  to  tell  Pomfrey  that  his  father 
had  at  last  given  his  consent.  Then  they  had  worked 
together  stowing  the  skins  in  the  hold.  When  that  was 
done,  his  mother  had  insisted  on  cutting  his  hair,  so  that 
he  should  not  be  laughed  at  by  people  on  shore.  His 
father  had  produced  a  pair  of  dungarees  hardly  worn,  a 
slouch  hat  and  two  blue  shirts.  He  had  felt  much  altered 
and  dignified  by  the  new  clothes.    His  father  had  also 

45 


46  THE     MAINLAND 

given  him  ten  pounds,  which  was  sewn  into  the  belt  of 
his  trousers.  This  he  was  to  spend  little  of,  to  keep  as 
much  as  possible  for  emergencies.  Then  there  had  been 
the  good-bye  to  his  mother;  she  had  cried  a  little  and 
this  had  brought  tears  to  John's  eyes,  but  what  had  left 
the  deepest  impression  of  all  was  sailing  away  from  the 
island  and  hearing  his  father's  last  farewell  shout,  very 
faint  across  the  water.  That  had  indeed  given  his  heart 
a  wrench,  and  he  was  glad  when  the  figures  on  the  crest 
of  the  sand-hill  were  at  last  out  of  sight.  He  had  then 
felt  very  sad,  sadder  by  far  than  when  saying  good-bye; 
but  he  was  happy  in  his  melancholy. 

When  the  lighthouse  was  sighted,  and  the  shore  became 
visible  stretching  in  long  sand-dunes  north  and  south, 
John's  sense  for  new  adventures  burned  up.  The  boats 
and  ships  anchored  off  the  sand-banks  by  the  river's  mouth 
excited  him  beyond  words.  There  was  a  trading  steamer 
loading  wool  at  the  pier.  John  silently  gazed  at  the  bulk 
of  her  black  hull,  and  at  the  scores  of  people  on  the  decks. 
It  was  almost  incredible  that  so  vast  a  building  should 
move  over  the  sea.  He  could  have  wondered  at  it  all 
day,  had  there  not  been  so  many  other  things  to  look  at. 
There  were  the  men  on  the  pier,  others  in  dinghies  who 
rowed  from  ship  to  ship  and  shouted  to  one  another. 

Pomfrey  had  dropped  anchor,  then  had  pulled  to  the 
pier,  where  they  had  scrambled  up  a  rope-ladder.  There 
had  been  the  ride  in  the  train,  wonderful  in  itself,  three 
miles  across  Babbage  Island,  and  at  last  Kaimera.  To  a 
civilized  man  this  was  but  a  typical  coastwise  port  con- 
sisting of  square,  one-storey  houses,  painted  for  the  most 
part  pink  or  white.  The  streets  were  wide  and  bare, 
with  no  green  save  that  of  agaves  and  pepper  trees;  over- 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         47 

head,  a  blazing  sun.  To  John  the  sight  of  so  many 
people  had  been  disturbing,  it  had  made  him  feel  both 
shy  and  eager.  The  women  were  different  from  what 
he  had  expected;  they  were  different  from  his  mother, 
the  clothes  they  wore  making  them  look  odd,  and  strange 
to  his  eyes.  He  thought  the  people  looked  unhappy  and 
uncomfortable,  and  felt  sometimes  a  kind  of  disappoint- 
ment, though  frequently  he  saw  faces  that  he  wished  to 
know.  Such  were  his  early  impressions,  but  later,  when 
he  had  met  many  of  Pomfrey's  acquaintances  and  had 
had  to  answer  their  greeting  and  questions,  he  longed 
to  be  away  by  himself,  to  get  things  sorted  in  his  mind, 
and  to  avoid  being  overdone  with  impressions.  But  he 
was  not  able  to  get  away;  there  were  people  everywhere; 
so  all  the  evening  he  had  sat  dumbly,  and  rather  miserably, 
listening  with  growing  boredom  to  the  chatter  of  the  bar, 
while  Pomfrey  and  his  friends  drank  numberless  glasses. 

Now,  alone  and  in  bed,  he  was  glad  to  think  over  all 
these  things.  He  assured  himself  that  in  time  he  would 
get  accustomed  to  it  all,  then  the  next  moment  he 
doubted,  feeling  there  was  so  much  new  and  strange  to 
find  out.  But  he  was  wholly  glad  that  he  had  come.  To- 
morrow he  would  not  be  so  shy  of  all  those  other  people, 
who  of  course  understood  so  much.  Things  that  they 
took  for  granted  appeared  to  him  marvellous,  and  he 
remembered  the  light  in  the  courtyard  which  had  sprung 
into  existence  when  Flynn  had  touched  a  little  knob 
near  the  door.  He  had  not  liked  to  say  anything  about 
this  at  the  time  for  fear  of  being  laughed  at,  but  now 
he  determined  to  see  for  himself. 

Out  in  the  yard  it  was  very  dark  and  he  could  hear 
Pomfrey  snoring  in  the  next  bedroom.     Everybody  was 


48  THE     MAINLAND 

asleep.  Quickly  John  crossed  the  yard,  felt  for  the 
button  and  pushed  it  down.  The  light  sprang  into  ex- 
istence. At  once  rather  scared  he  pushed  up  the  knob  — 
darkness.  After  a  pause  he  pushed  it  down  again,  once 
more  there  was  the  light.  Off  —  on,  off  —  on,  it  was 
obedient  to  his  finger.  He  tiptoed  very  quietly  towards 
it  —  a  glass  globe  with  a  little  looped  red-hot  wire:  what 
an  extraordinary  light!  Gingerly  he  put  out  his  hand. 
It  was  warm,  but  did  not  burn  like  a  flame.  For  a  long 
while  he  gazed  surprised  at  its  steady  glow.  It  was 
marvellous  that  the  pressing  of  a  knob  so  far  away  should 
make  a  light;  this  alone  was  wonderful  as  a  dream,  and 
tomorrow  there  was  all  the  mainland  and  all  his  life  for 
discoveries.  He  gazed  at  the  lamp  in  an  ecstasy  of  happy 
anticipation,  then  tiptoed  back  to  the  knob.  When  again 
it  was  dark  he  glanced  for  a  moment  up  at  the  familiar 
stars  overhead.  Then  assured  by  the  recognition  of  what 
was  normal  and  enduring,  he  quietly  crossed  the  court 
and  with  a  shiver  of  happiness  curled  himself  up  in  bed. 

n 

Early  next  morning  before  any  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Kaimera  were  about,  John  made  a  tour  of  inspection  of 
the  town.  From  one  wide  street  to  another  he  turned, 
filled  with  wonder  for  the  size  and  numerousness  of  the 
houses;  most  of  all  he  was  impressed  by  the  new  Coffee 
Palace  just  completed,  which  was  two  stories  high  with 
a  double  verandah.  When  his  curiosity  was  satisfied  he 
went  down  to  the  pier-head,  had  a  look  at  the  small  en- 
gine and  train,  then  started  to  run  out  towards  the  sea. 
It  was  easy  going,  along  the  boarded  way  beside  the  rail- 
way line,  and  it  amused  him  to  look  down  between  the 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         49 

cracks  and  to  see  space  beneath  his  feet.  To  the  end  of 
the  pier  it  was  three  miles,  but  well  worth  the  run.  He 
wanted  to  bathe  in  deep  sea,  not  liking  the  look  of  the 
river  estuary  where  the  water  was  muddy  and  where 
large  yellow  and  black  water-snakes  were  now  and  then 
to  be  seen.  Much  to  his  disappointment  he  found  that 
the  steamer  which  last  evening  had  been  loading  wool 
had  sailed  in  the  night,  but  he  found  other  boats  anchored 
in  the  shelter  of  the  sand-banks.  He  dived  in  and  swam 
round  for  an  inspection  of  the  various  craft,  finishing  up 
on  the  Shark  where  he  surprised  the  silent  and  abstracted 
Toby  who  had  been  left  in  charge.  They  breakfasted 
together  on  some  bread  and  some  rather  scaly  fish-soup 
made  of  sea-water  and  snapper  hacked  into  chunks  and 
boiled.  After  breakfast  John  returned  to  his  clothes  on 
the  pier,  and  then  back  to  Kaimera. 

By  this  time  the  streets  were  full  of  people,  and  John 
hurried  back  to  Flynn's  Hotel,  disliking  to  feel  himself 
alone  in  a  strange  town.  The  rest  of  the  morning  was 
taken  up  by  meeting  various  of  Pomfrey's  acquaintances, 
beach-combers  of  all  kinds,  including  the  notorious  Morat, 
the  murderer,  who  had  not  only  killed  a  white  man  but 
had  three  niggers  flung  in  to  complete  his  reputation.  He 
was  a  little  sandy  man  with  rheumy  eyes,  and  John 
thought  he  looked  very  mild.  These  gentlemen  were  all 
told  of  the  stingaree  skins,  and  in  the  afternoon  a  party 
was  made  up  to  visit  the  Shark. 

Depreciating  and  pessimistic  remarks  regarding  so  un- 
usual a  freight  were  the  preliminaries  of  a  business  deal. 
Pomfrey,  who  had  arranged  with  the  elder  Sherwin  that 
he  was  to  have  a  commission  on  the  sale,  did  his  best  to 
speak  up,  and  after  much  banter  on  both  sides  asked  for 


50  THE     MAINLAND 

an  offer.  A  miserable  five  pounds  was  suggested,  but 
Pomfrey  was  not  to  be  gulled  to  that  extent,  and  after 
further  discussion  and  a  deal  of  good-natured  blasphemy 
ten  pounds  was  reached.  Pomfrey  was  not  going  to 
commit  himself.  He  knew  the  beach-combers  and  their 
methods  of  trade  and  determined  to  hold  on  for  a  day 
or  two  on  the  chance  of  a  better  bid. 

All  this  talk  seemed  to  John  very  stupid,  and  he  soon 
became  indifferent.  Ten  pounds  or  a  hundred  were 
much  the  same  to  him.  He  vaguely  understood  that  on 
the  mainland  money  was  necessary.  It  still  seemed  ab- 
surd that  people  should  have  to  pay  to  live,  but  it  wasn't 
worth  bothering  about.  For  the  present  he  had  enough. 
The  skins  had  only  been  a  pretext.  He  had  already  lost 
interest,  and  felt  restless  in  the  presence  of  so  much  talk 
and  so  little  action. 

The  next  morning,  when  John  again  ran  down  the  pier 
for  his  bathe,  he  saw  that  there  was  a  newly  arrived  cutter 
anchored  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  sand  bar.  Evidently 
she  had  come  in  late  on  the  previous  evening.  John  soon 
stripped  and  swam  out  towards  her,  curious  for  a  closer 
view.  There  was  only  one  man  on  deck,  and  he  was 
occupied  at  the  small  box-like  cook-house  forward. 
Very  quietly  John  swam  up  behind  him  and  then  trod 
water,  while  he  compared  the  various  qualities  of  the 
new  arrival  with  those  of  the  Shark.  The  contrast  was 
marked,  for  the  Shark  was  old,  having  had  no  money 
spent  on  her  for  a  good  ten  years,  while  this  boat  was 
the  very  acme  of  all  that  was  well-cared-for  and  ship- 
shape. Her  painted  sides  gleamed  in  the  morning  sun 
and  made  complementary  reflections  in  the  limpid  water. 
Her  lines  were  delicate  and  tapering,  suggestive  of  speed, 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         51 

and  as  the  wavelets  tossed  against  her  hull  she  seemed  to 
stir  like  some  bright  creature  of  the  air,  eager  to  spread 
her  wings  and  skim  out  over  the  sea.  Thrilled  with 
admiration  for  so  beautiful  a  craft,  John  swam  nearer. 
Within  about  ten  feet  he  stopped  and  had  a  closer  look 
at  the  broad  back  of  the  man  who,  as  he  could  now  see, 
was  frying  fish  at  a  fire.  He  wanted  much  to  find  out 
about  this  new  arrival  which  so  far  surpassed  in  appear- 
ance the  other  boats  of  the  port.  He  did  not  know  how 
best  to  open  a  conversation,  but  was  unwilling  to  swim 
away  tamely  without  further  satisfying  his  curiosity. 
The  whim  took  him  to  dive  under  the  boat.  He  came 
up  with  rather  a  splutter,  shaking  the  water  out  of  his 
hair  and  ears.  On  the  cutter  the  man  had  put  down 
his  frying-pan  and  was  gazing  at  him  with  a  fierce  ex- 
pression from  under  thick  black  brows.  For  a  moment 
they  looked  mutely  at  one  another,  then  came  the  natural 
though  disconcerting  question: 

"  What  the  hell  are  you  doing?  " 

John  felt  abashed  by  the  man's  uncompromising  aspect 
and  replied  in  words  that  he  felt  were  weak  and  illusory, 
"  Just  swimming  about." 

"  Well  g-go  and  swim  somewhere  else." 

There  was  a  slight  stutter  on  the  "  go  "  which  seemed 
to  add  emphasis  to  the  command,  though  John  could  dis- 
cern a  certain  amused  interest.  At  a  loss  what  to  say 
he  stared  blankly  at  the  broad,  solid  face  and  the  heavy, 
straight  brows.  He  felt  extremely  foolish  in  this  en- 
counter which  he  had  pushed  himself  into,  and  to  avoid 
looking  so,  submerged  himself  with  an  upward  lift  of  his 
hands.  Under  water  he  made  towards  the  boat  and 
came  up  very  silently  beneath  the  wide  counter. 


52  THE     MAINLAND 

From  here  he  heard  another  voice  speaking.  The  tones 
were  clear  and  full  of  vitality.  "  Who  are  you  talking 
to,  Tom?" 

"  There  was  a  red-headed  boy  come  up  out  of  the  sea  — 
God  knows  where  from." 

"Is  he  there?" 

"  No,  damned  if  he  is." 

"  Where  has  he  gone  to?  " 

"  Under  water  again  like  a  damned  fish." 

John  heard  the  footsteps  on  the  deck  and  the  two 
men  expressing  their  amused  surprise  at  his  strange  ap- 
pearance and  disappearance.  After  a  little  he  submerged 
again  and  swam  a  short  distance  from  the  boat.  When 
he  came  to  the  surface  he  was  hailed. 

A  tall  slim  man  in  silk  pyjamas  with  a  black  beard  was 
standing  on  the  deck.  "Do  you  want  anything?"  he 
shouted  in  a  voice  that  sounded  eager  and  full  of  zest 
for  any  incident  that  might  offer  novelty  and  entertain- 
ment. 

"  No,  I  was  just  having  a  morning  swim,"  said  John, 
more  at  his  ease.  "  I  came  to  look  at  your  boat;  she's 
such  a  beauty." 

"  Where  have  you  come  from?  " 

"  The  pier." 

"  That's  a  far  swim;  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  sharks?  " 

"  No,  they  eat  fish;  I've  never  had  one  after  me." 

During  this  exchange,  John  had  swum  nearer  and  was 
now  treading  water.  The  tall  man  continued  his  ques- 
tions. 

"  You  seem  pretty  well  at  home  in  the  sea,  where  did 
you  get  to  just  now?  " 

John  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  Under  your  boat." 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         53 

The  two  men  on  board  laughed,  amused  at  his  re- 
source. The  tall  man  was  obviously  pleased  at  this  new 
acquaintance,  and  relished  the  humour  of  the  meeting. 
The  other  man,  whom  he  addressed  as  Tom,  was  now 
also  smiling  at  John's  account  of  himself.  He  asked 
John  to  give  an  exhibition  of  one  of  his  disappearing 
dives.  John  at  once  complied,  glad  to  show  off.  He 
swam  straight  to  the  bottom  where  he  collected  various 
shells  and  one  or  two  small  sponges.  He  stayed  under 
as  long  as  he  was  able,  and  when  he  came  up  trium- 
phantly handed  the  shells  up  to  be  displayed  on  the  white 
deck  of  the  cutter.  Their  praise,  which  was  obviously 
sincere,  made  him  feel  well  rewarded,  and  he  readily  ac- 
cepted the  invitation  to  clamber  on  board  and  breakfast 
with  them. 

The  tall  man,  whom  John  by  this  time  recognized  as 
the  "  boss,"  helped  him  on  board  with  a  firm  hand-grip. 
He  felt,  in  spite  of  the  stranger's  light  and  friendly  man- 
ner, that  at  this  moment  he  was  being  looked  at  critically 
and  with  a  keen  glance.  He  in  his  turn  looked  critically 
back.  His  first  impression  of  a  slim,  wiry  figure  was 
confirmed.  The  stranger's  face,  well  tanned  by  the  sun, 
was  formed  of  clear-cut,  intelligent  features;  his  forehead 
was  high  and  unlined;  his  eyes,  which  were  deep-set, 
were  light  brown  in  colour  and  had  a  very  direct  glance, 
obviously  honest;  his  nose  slightly  aquiline  and  large; 
his  lips  and  chin  covered  with  a  well-trimmed  moustache 
and  beard.     John  judged  him  to  be  over  thirty. 

"  What's  your  name?  "  he  asked. 

"  John  Sherwin." 

"  My  name's  Arthur  Cray  and  this  is  Tom  Julep. 
Tom  will  give  you  some  clothes,  and  if  you  like  you  can 


54  THE     MAINLAND 

help  him  with  the  breakfast.  I'm  going  to  dress  now." 
He  added  with  a  smile:  "  At  breakfast  I  shall  have  ques- 
tions to  ask  you." 

In  the  forecastle  Julep  kept  his  clothes  and  all  his 
belongings.  He  pulled  out  a  pair  of  trousers  and  a  shirt. 
"  Slip  into  these;  the  air  will  soon  dry  you,"  he  said. 
He  looked  at  John  critically  for  a  few  minutes  with  a 
suppressed  smile  wrinkling  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  John 
thought  him  very  ugly  but  somehow  attractive.  His  thick- 
set limbs  took  kindly  curves,  and  his  heavy  features  and 
prominent  dimpled  chin  gave  some  suggestion  of  a  coarse 
species  of  Oriental  Buddha  filled  with  self-approbation 
and  a  strong  sensual  zest  for  life.  "  The  Boss  has  rather 
taken  to  you,"  he  said.  "  He's  not  free  with  his  invita- 
tions." Then  with  a  knowing  wink,  "  What  sort  of  a 
place  is  Kaimera?  " 

John,  having  no  other  town  to  compare  it  with,  was 
at  a  loss.  "  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  I've  only  been  there 
two  days." 

"Well,  isn't  that  long  enough?  Is  there  any  good- 
looking  stuff  about?  " 

Again  John  was  at  a  loss.  "  What  do  you  mean  by 
stuff?" 

"  Women,  girls,  what  else?  " 

John  crimsoned.     "  I  don't  know." 

"  I  see,  you  spend  your  time  diving."  This  was  sug- 
gested with  kindly  sarcasm.  Then,  amused  at  John's 
silence,  he  screwed  up  his  eyes  in  another  critical  glance 
before  swinging  himself  up  on  to  the  deck.  "  What  do 
you  think  of  The  Venture?  "  he  asked,  looking  along  the 
white  planks  of  the  cutter. 

"  She's  fine;  have  you  come  far  in  her?  " 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         SS 

"  Up  from  Perth  —  more  than  five  hundred  miles,  and 
we  are  going  a  long  way  further.  She's  a  good  sailer  and 
seaworthy.  It's  part  of  his  g-gentlemanly  fancy  to  keep 
her  spick-and-span."  Again  the  slight  stutter  struck 
John  as  singular.  It  seemed  to  suggest  some  weakness 
in  the  great  physical  bulk  of  the  man  and  at  the  same 
time  a  gentle  streak  in  his  primitive  animalism.  "  He 
sailed  her  up  from  Albany  by  himself  with  just  his  wife 
to  help  him,"  Julep  went  on,  "  but  at  Perth  I  joined 
as  crew.  We  fixed  that  up  in  Paris  months  ago,  now  we're 
off  on  a  twelve  months'  trip." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Somewhere  up  north.  He's  just 
pleasure-cruising  with  his  wife." 

While  Julep  occupied  himself  with  the  preparation 
of  breakfast,  John's  attention  was  captured  by  the  neat 
array  of  cups,  plates,  etc.,  which  seemed  to  him  the  ex- 
travagant and  elegant  accessories  of  a  meal.  These 
people  on  The  Venture  were  wonderfully  different  from 
all  his  previous  experience.  They  seemed  also  to  be 
different  from  the  people  of  Kaimera.  Certainly  they 
had  little  in  common  with  Pomfrey  and  his  taproom 
acquaintances.  John  remembered  his  half-acknowledged 
feeling  of  disappointment  and  his  boredom  with  the 
townsfolk.  In  comparison  with  Cray's  eager  vitality  the 
inhabitants  of  Kaimera  seemed  stale  and  unprofitable. 
His  eyes  went  landward,  following  his  thoughts.  The 
land  was  far  distant,  and  the  early  morning  scene  ap- 
peared as  wonderfully  beautiful,  filling  him  with  hap- 
piness and  the  untroubled  zest  of  youth.  Long  tongues 
of  sand  ran  out  on  either  side  of  the  river's  mouth  to 
meet  the  blue  sea-water.     Between  these  wide-flung  spurs 


56  THE    MAINLAND 

lay  the  dark  mud  of  the  estuary  with  its  ferruginous 
burden  of  mangrove  thickets.  Beyond  was  the  stretch 
of  Babbage  Island  with  yellow  sand-dunes  and  in  the 
hazy  distance  the  roofs  of  Kaimera,  a  town  of  opal  and 
pink,  fragile  and  transparent  as  a  sea-medusa. 

When  Cray  came  on  deck,  John  was  astonished  and 
even  a  little  awed  by  his  smart  appearance.  He  wore  a 
spotless,  well-fitting  white  suit,  and  on  his  head  was  a 
wide-brimmed  topee.  He  conveyed  an  impression  of 
evenly  poised  alertness,  and  John  was  filled  with  admi- 
ration. A  few  seconds  later  Mrs.  Cray  came  up  the  com- 
panion-way out  of  the  cabin.  She  was  a  woman  of 
twenty-eight  or  thirty,  but  she  looked  considerably  younger 
and  on  occasions  might  have  been  taken  for  not  more 
than  twenty.  She  was  now  dressed  in  an  unbleached 
linen  skirt  and  a  tussore  blouse  embroidered  with  a  line 
of  cerise  round  the  throat  and  wrists.  Her  abundant  hair 
was  largely  concealed  by  her  wide-brimmed  hat. 

Cray,  with  an  easy  smile,  introduced  John  as  their 
first  visitor  from  the  mainland,  who  had  swum  out  to 
have  breakfast  with  them.  The  boy  was  enveloped  by 
successive  waves  of  embarrassment.  Never  had  he  imag- 
ined any  one  in  the  least  like  Mrs.  Cray.  The  vague  girls 
of  his  imagination  had  been  wild,  shy,  long-haired,  dark 
creatures.  This  woman  was  a  being  from  another  world. 
She  was  not  woman,  to  his  conception;  she  was  hardly 
human  —  there  was  no  gauge  by  which  he  could  value 
her.  She  said  good  morning  to  him  very  simply,  and 
he  remained  silent,  not  knowing  in  the  least  what  to 
do  with  his  hands,  his  eyes,  or  his  feet.  His  native  good 
feeling  made  it  impossible  to  address  her  with  any  speech 
that  was  at  his  command.     He  felt  that  he  was  a  fool, 


THE     PORT     OF     KAIMERA         57 

and  that  she  was  self-possessed  and  wonderful;  whether 
she  was  beautiful  his  abashed  senses  did  not  dare  to  de- 
cide, but  she  was  wonderful,  extraordinarily  wonderful. 
The  direct  glance  of  her  blue  eyes  made  him  look  down 
to  the  blue  waves  lapping  the  boat's  side.  Seeing  that  he 
was  embarrassed  she  moved  away  and  occupied  herself 
with  the  arrangement  of  a  cloth  over  the  cabin  top  which 
was  to  serve  as  breakfast-table.  Cray  took  John  for- 
ward and  asked  questions  concerning  places  of  better  an- 
chorage and  the  best  approach  to  the  town  up  the  muddy 
estuary  of  the  river.  When  they  turned  again  towards 
the  others,  John  noticed  that  Mrs.  Cray  was  absorbed  in 
a  long  contemplation  of  the  landward  scene.  In  her  ex- 
pression of  delight  at  the  awakening  beauty  of  the  day 
he  recognized  a  subdued  though  deepened  reflection  of  his 
own  feelings  of  a  few  moments  past. 

At  breakfast,  which  they  took  sitting  at  the  side  of  the 
cabin  roof,  Cray  talked  with  an  easy  vivacity,  doing  all 
he  could  to  put  John  at  his  ease.  He  was  surprised  at 
the  admission  that  this  was  the  boy's  second  day  at  Kai- 
mera,  and  asked  where  he  had  come  from.  On  hearing 
of  Kanna  Island,  which  was  only  thirty  miles  to  the  west- 
ward, he  said,  "  But  surely  you  must  have  been  over  to 
Kaimera  before?  " 

"  No." 

"Then  who  lives  on  Kanna  Island?" 

"  My  father  and  mother,  and  the  black  boy  Coffee." 

"  No  one  else?  " 

"  No.  Pomfrey  goes  across  in  the  cutter  from  time  to 
time." 

"But  have  you  never  been  to  the  mainland  before? 
Is  this  your  second  day  of  civilization?  " 


58  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Yes." 

Cray  was  now  thoroughly  interested.  He  asked,  "  Have 
you  never  been  to  school?  " 

"  No,"  admitted  John,  flushing  with  shame. 

Cray  smiled  across  at  his  wife.  "  At  last  I  have  met 
a  man  who  has  escaped  the  blight  of  education."  Then 
to  John  he  apologized  for  his  many  questions.  "  But 
I'm  so  interested,"  he  continued.  "  You  don't  know 
your  good  fortune,  you  have  not  only  resisted  education, 
which  is  the  best  we  others  can  hope  for;  you've  escaped 
it  altogether.  Have  you  learnt  to  read?  "  His  question 
was  full  of  a  pleased  eagerness. 

At  first  John  had  been  embarrassed  by  so  many  ques- 
tions, but  Cray's  manner  was  so  unaffected,  and  his  inter- 
est so  real,  that  the  boy  felt  almost  flattered  and  now  spoke 
from  his  natural  feeling.  "  No,  mother  did  want  me  to 
learn,  and  tried  to  teach  me,  but  I  never  took  to  it  much. 
Learning  the  letters  was  so  senseless." 

Cray  kept  silent  for  a  few  seconds  while  he  looked  at 
John  with  a  critical  admiration.  Here  was  the  raw 
material  of  humanity,  the  child  of  nature,  unspoiled 
primitive  manhood.  In  those  few  seconds  of  criticism 
he  checked  the  flood  of  questions  that  pushed  themselves 
forward.  He  wanted  to  know  more  of  the  youth,  but 
the  knowledge  must  come  slowly,  it  must  unfold  itself 
rather  than  be  dragged  forth  in  disjointed  monosyllables. 
He  dropped  his  eager  questioning  to  a  more  ordinary 
tone. 

"  What  does  your  father  do  on  Kanna?  " 

"  He's  a  farmer  and  keeps  the  stock  for  the  hospital 
on  Fenton  Island." 

Mrs.   Cray,  who  had  been  listening  with  an  interest 


THE     PORT     OF     KAIMERA         59 

not  less  keen  but  which  appeared  more  subdued  than 
her  husband's,  now  asked,  "  Have  you  never  known  any 
one  but  your  father  and  mother?  " 

"  No  one  except  Pomfrey  and  Toby  who  go  to  and 
fro  on  the  Shark,  and  of  course  Coffee,  who  is  a  black." 

"  Have  you  seen  no  other  woman?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  some  in  Kaimera  yesterday." 

"  When  I  asked  him  just  now  what  they  were  like," 
Julep  laughed,  "  he  couldn't  tell  me." 

"  He'll  leave  that  to  you,  Julep,"  said  Cray,  then  to 
John,  "  I  suppose  you  helped  your  father  with  the  farm 
and  are  now  looking  out  for  some  job  on  the  mainland." 

They  talked  of  possible  openings,  and  John  told  of 
his  skins.  Cray  was  interested,  and  said  that  he  would 
go  over  to  the  Shark  that  morning  and  see  them;  if 
he  liked  the  look  of  them,  he  would  make  John  an  offer. 

After  breakfast  the  three  men  started  off  in  the  dinghy. 
They  took  Julep  to  the  pier  where  he  was  able  to  scramble 
up  to  the  level  of  the  railway  track  and  from  thence  start 
on  his  journey  to  the  town.  John  then  sculled  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Shark,  Cray  sitting  in  the  stern  and  steering. 

Half  a  dozen  skins  were  pulled  out  and  looked  at  in  a 
great  deal  less  time  than  the  bargainers  of  yesterday  had 
taken  to  the  consideration  of  one. 

"  I  don't  know  in  the  least  what  they  are  worth,"  said 
Cray.  "They  look  fairly  good  and  may  have  value;  on 
the  other  hand  they  may  be  quite  valueless.  You  see  I 
never  thought  I  should  come  to  buy  stingaree  skins.  They 
may  be  worth  five  pounds  each  or  more.  I  don't  know. 
I'll  make  you  a  sporting  offer  if  you  like,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose you'll  get  more  from  any  one  here.  What  did  they 
offer  you?  " 


60  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Ten  pounds,  I  think." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  you  fifty.  I'm  sure  they  ought  to  be 
worth  that." 

"  All  risrht,  if  that's  not  too  much,"  said  John  de- 
lighted  at  having  succeeded  where  Pomfrey  had  failed. 
But  he  took  little  credit  to  himself,  for  how  different 
was  Cray  from  Pomfrey's  customers.  If  this  was  trade, 
then  it  was  not  so  bad  after  all,  and  far  different  from 
yesterday's  bargainings. 

They  started  back  towards  The  Venture  both  pleased 
with  themselves  and  with  each  other.  About  half-way, 
Cray  gave  the  order  to  easy  with  the  oars  and  let  the 
boat  drift  for  a  while. 

"  If  you  are  looking  for  a  job,"  he  said,  "  will  you  come 
with  me  on  The  Venture?  You'd  have  to  help  Julep  with 
his  work,  learn  to  cook,  do  any  odd  work  that  needed 
doing,  and  sail  the  boat  when  you  were  told  to.  I'll  pay 
you  a  pound  a  week,  which  is  rather  less  than  you  get 
on  the  sheep  runs  or  the  gold  fields;  but  then  the  work 
you  will  have  to  do  will  not  be  very  hard,  at  any  rate  for 
a  while." 

John  flushed  with  excitement.  "  Are  you  going  up 
north?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes." 

This  was  his  dream  come  true,  better  than  he  could 
have  hoped.  "  Yes,  I'd  come  for  nothing,"  his  impul- 
siveness earned  him  away. 

Cray  smiled  indulgently,  though  he  liked  the  spirit. 
"  No,  I  shall  pay  you,  and  that  fifty  pounds  —  it  will  want 
looking  after.  And  I  shall  look  after  you  a  bit  while  you 
are  with  me,  until  you've  learnt  something  of  life  and 
money.     You  had  better  bank  it  and  start  an  account. 


THE     PORT     OF    KAIMERA         61 

I'll  show  you  how  that's  done,"  he  smiled.  "  You  will 
be  glad  of  the  money  perhaps  when  the  trip's  over.  Now 
we'll  go  back  to  the  boat  to  fetch  my  cheque-book  and  my 
wife,  then  you  can  help  us  find  the  way  up  the  river  to 
the  town." 

Cray  rather  enjoyed  talking  to  John,  as  if  he  were  a 
child.  The  position  of  patron  set  him  high  in  his  own 
estimation,  he  could  feel  the  warm  radiations  of  the  youth's 
growing  devotion.  As  for  John,  his  imagination  was  cap- 
tured. This  man,  with  his  gentle  and  sharp-cut  manners 
(so  unlike  his  father),  his  eagerness  for  events,  his  self- 
confidence,  his  generosity,  and  above  all  his  power  of  lift- 
ing life  to  the  plane  of  a  grand  adventure,  touched  the 
pulse  of  a  new  existence  making  glorious  the  hope  of  the 
future.  He  would  go  to  the  ends  of  the  world,  if  so 
bidden,  and  ask  no  reward.  The  light  in  the  sunlit  waves 
was  eloquent  with  happiness,  and  when  Cray  gave  the 
signal  he  struck  them  with  his  oars,  making  the  dinghy 
leap  forward  as  if  infected  by  the  fervour  of  his  faith. 


CHAPTER  III 
THE    SEABOARD 

I 

ARTHUR  CRAY  was  the  son  of  a  London  mer- 
chant. At  the  whim  of  his  father  he  had  been 
educated  in  France  and  Italy,  where  he  had 
travelled  with  tutors.  At  nineteen  he  had  taken  a  schol- 
arship in  Physics  at  Cambridge.  At  the  University  he 
had  abandoned  science  and  had  taken  a  First  Class  in 
Classics.  From  Classics  he  went  on  to  Moral  Sciences 
and  from  Moral  Sciences  to  Psychology.  This  latter  study 
had  taken  him  back  to  Paris,  where  for  some  time  he  as- 
sumed the  dress  and  habits  of  a  French  savant.  Suddenly 
tired  of  the  life,  he  had  cruised  in  the  Mediterranean,  had 
visited  the  coast  of  Africa  and  had  risked  his  life  in  more 
than  one  encounter  with  the  wild  Bedouin  tribes.  On 
returning  to  Paris  he  met  Caroline  Vertaud. 

Caroline  was  the  daughter  of  a  French  Protestant  and 
an  English  mother.  She  had  been  educated  in  England 
and  this  was  her  first  year  in  Paris.  Cray  fell  romanti- 
cally in  love  with  her,  and,  with  the  brilliance  of  his 
many  accomplishments,  carried  her  off  her  feet.  After 
they  were  married,  he  took  her  to  the  Pacific.  In  Tahiti 
they  had  stayed  more  than  a  year,  then  back  to  Paris  and 
later  to  London.  They  had  now  been  married  for  seven 
years,  and,  although  Cray  had  taken  a  house  near  Fon- 
tainebleau,  they  had  never  settled.     His  restless  genius, 

62 


THE     SEABOARD  63 

eager  for  knowledge  and  adventure,  had  urged  him  to 
travel. 

With  power  and  sufficient  self-control  to  hold  life  in 
his  grasp,  he  had  regarded  it  as  an  experiment  whose 
proof  lay  through  sense  and  brain  to  spirit.  Throughout 
their  years  of  wandering  Mrs.  Cray  had  followed  him 
with  a  passive  obedience.  Her  life,  devoid  of  any  ma- 
terial anchorage  and  unable  to  keep  pace  with  her  hus- 
band's hurrying  imagination,  had  come  to  move  about 
its  own  axis.  In  the  contemplation  of  the  ever-changing 
beauty  of  existence  she  found  a  cool  and  spiritual  satis- 
faction. Her  husband,  in  the  fervour  of  his  concep- 
tion of  life,  had  simply  not  recognized  the  ordinary  needs 
of  a  woman's  existence,  and  Caroline,  under  the  influence 
of  his  enthusiasm,  had  found  pleasure  in  renunciation  and 
a  passive  happiness  in  accepting  the  accidental  joys  of 
adventure. 

Tom  Julep  first  met  Cray  in  Bristol.  He  was  then  in 
charge  of  a  small  ketch  plying  between  Bristol  and 
Cherbourg.  They  had  exchanged  greetings  on  the  quay 
near  Bridge  Street  and  the  two  men  had  been  attracted 
to  each  other  by  their  dissimilarities.  Then,  some 
months  later,  they  had  met  again  by  the  river-side  in 
Paris.  At  this  time  Cray  was  planning  the  cruise  round 
the  north  coast  of  Australia.  He  told  Julep  of  his  scheme, 
which  was  projected  chiefly  for  the  sake  of  new  adven- 
ture, but  which  contained  prospects,  which,  besides  offer- 
ing danger  and  enterprise,  suggested  the  possibility  of 
large  profits.  They  had  discussed  these  possibilities,  had 
come  to  a  business  understanding,  and  subsequently  Julep 
had  travelled  out  to  join  The  Venture  at  Perth.  The 
first    four    hundred    miles    of    the    journey    had    passed 


64  THE    MAINLAND 

uneventfully.  They  had  put  in  at  Kaimera  to  buy  stores 
sufficient  to  last  them  for  the  eight  or  twelve  months  that 
they  hoped  to  be  away. 

The  three  days  they  were  in  port,  Cray  spent  mostly 
in  Kaimera  making  his  purchases  and  talking  to  any  one 
who  could  give  information  about  the  coast  northward. 
The  skins  he  brought  to  the  pier  and  addressed  to  his 
agent  in  Perth.  He  kept  John  with  him,  taking  an  evi- 
dent pleasure  in  showing  the  boy  how  things  should  be 
done.  He  banked  the  £50  in  John's  name,  and  bought 
him  an  outfit  as  a  present,  including  a  shot-gun  and  a 
store  of  cartridges. 

After  the  first  visit,  Mrs.  Cray  did  not  go  again  to  the 
town,  but  walked  by  herself  on  Babbage  Island.  She 
took  with  her  her  paint-box  and  a  camp-stool,  seeming 
happy  in  solitude.  Julep,  whenever  he  was  free,  spent 
his  time  on  shore  following  his  own  ends,  and  not  till 
the  day  before  they  started  did  John  see  anything  of  him; 
then  together  they  had  the  slow  task  of  tacking  down  the 
estuary  against  a  head-wind  in  a  shallow-draught  ship's- 
boat  which  Cray  had  hired  to  carry  out  his  store  of 
provisions. 

That  evening  they  all  slept  aboard;  as  the  night  was 
hot  they  slept  on  deck,  Cray  and  Mrs.  Cray  in  hammocks 
near  the  poop  and  Julep  and  John  forward  on  the  bare 
boards.  The  Venture  stirred  very  gently  to  the  move- 
ment of  the  waves,  and  John,  as  he  gazed  up  through 
the  clear  night  air,  watched  the  mast-head  tracing 
patterns  among  the  stars.  The  water  against  the  hull 
sounded  with  a  soft  plashing  that  had  in  it  the  friendli- 
ness of  intimacy.  Once  he  raised  himself  to  look  at  the 
rippling  surface,  then  lay  back  upon  the  deck  contented. 


THE     SEABOARD  65 

In  the  depths  of  the  night  above  him  there  was  room 
for  all  aspiration,  and  in  the  glitter  of  the  stars  a  thousand 
kindling  hopes. 

n 

Early  the  next  morning  the  south-west  wind  came  in 
light  puffs  over  the  Indian  Ocean.  The  crew  of  The 
Venture  were  astir  before  sunrise,  anchor  was  lifted,  the 
sails  flapped  for  a  moment  then  steadied  to  the  wind,  the 
water  murmured  about  the  bows,  and  The  Venture,  like 
a  white  sea-bird,  headed  north-westward  for  the  open. 
The  lights  of  early  morning  in  grey  and  mauve  forgot 
slowly  their  bashfulness  and  the  sun,  yet  hidden  by  the 
earth,  lit  with  a  line  of  crimson  the  thin  mist  clouds  that 
hung  above  the  land.  The  sea  was  green  and  translucent. 
In  distant  streaks  of  smooth  surface  it  was  olive  alter- 
nating with  yellow,  but  nearer,  in  the  hollows  of  waves 
could  be  discerned  a  fleeting  pinkness,  that  flashed  from 
transparency  to  disappear  in  emerald  caps.  Overhead 
the  sky  flushed  a  deeper  pink  as  the  sun  rose. 

The  wind  grew  stronger  as  the  day  lengthened,  the 
water  under  the  bows  babbled  more  loudly,  and  the 
cutter  leant  over,  dipping  her  starboard  bulwark  as  she 
cut  the  waves.  Behind  her  a  wake  of  tumbling  water 
twisted  the  reflections  of  the  sun  in  eddies  and  swirling 
pools. 

By  midday  both  sky  and  sea  had  taken  on  a  deep  blue. 
The  waves,  now  full  of  indigo  and  cobalt,  broke  sometimes 
to  white  crests,  which  in  turn  subsided  to  clusters  of 
clear  bubbles  scattering  and  dipping  over  the  film  of 
their  undulations.  On  the  cutter  the  deck  became  so  hot 
that  water  had  to  be  sluiced  over  it  to  prevent  the  feet 


66  THE     MAINLAND 

of  the  men  from  being  burnt.  Now  and  then  an  old 
shell-back  turtle  rose  to  the  surface  and  looked  with  a 
serious  eye  at  The  Venture  as  she  sped  past.  Often  the 
sharp  fins  of  sharks  appeared  in  a  long  line,  sometimes 
a  school  of  porpoises  came  chasing  one  after  another, 
regardless  of  everything  in  their  swift  career. 

Then,  later,  as  the  sun  sloped  toward  the  western 
ocean,  the  intensity  of  the  blue  waters  subsided  and  the 
thin  red  glare  of  a  tropical  evening  pervaded  the  sky. 
The  waves  caught  and  cooled  the  reflections,  temper- 
ing the  crimson  of  sunset  with  greens  and  amethyst.  As 
the  wind  dropped,  they  lost  their  white  caps,  while  the 
liquid  colours,  blending  and  shifting  in  undulations,  ex- 
changed their  bright  tints  for  the  opaque  greys  and  mauves 
of  twilight. 

On  board  the  cutter,  life  very  easily  adapted  itself  to 
the  habit  of  the  encompassing  elements.  Each  individual 
formed  a  distinctive  appreciation  of  the  sea-life;  in  re- 
turn the  sea  touched  each  personality  with  something  of 
its  pervading  nature.  The  necessary  duties  of  sailing  the 
boat  and  preparing  food  became  in  themselves  adequate 
and  sufficient  actions.  The  speaking  of  words  became 
a  freedom  not  to  be  lavishly  wasted;  in  the  intervals  of 
silence  was  room  for  self-sufficiency  and  quiet  happiness. 

The  first  evening  they  anchored  in  a  small  sheltered 
bay  near  Maund's  Landing,  and  the  next  morning  made 
a  more  northerly  course,  still  hugging  the  land.  For 
three  days  they  sailed  northwards,  the  south-west  wind 
holding  good.  When  they  had  rounded  the  north-west 
cape  they  steered  four  points  westward,  keeping  the  land 
close  on  their  right. 

Sometimes  in  the  evenings  Cray  would  go  ashore  and 


THE     SEABOARD  67 

take  John  with  him.  They  had  their  guns  and  would 
shoot  wallabies  and  kangaroos  for  fresh  meat.  On  these 
occasions  Cray  would  make  the  boy  talk  of  his  past  life, 
and  their  friendship  developed.  It  was  a  curious  re- 
lationship. John  on  his  side  was  full  of  admiration  for 
the  polished  product  of  the  elder  man's  experience.  He 
had  devotion  also,  and  with  it  a  shy  desire  to  learn. 
Cray,  conscious  of  John's  emotions,  was  pleased  with  them 
and  pleased  with  himself  for  being  the  fount  of  their 
inspiration.  He  liked  the  youth,  and  especially  his  fresh 
simplicity.  Too  intelligent  to  assume  superiority  for  his 
knowledge,  he  chose  a  friendly  equality  of  manner,  trust- 
ing to  John's  honesty  to  observe  the  just  quality  of  their 
relationship.  In  this  trust  he  was  justified,  and  their 
friendship  grew. 

During  the  voyage  northward  all  the  ship's  company 
seemed  united  in  an  easy  intimacy.  Cray's  clear-edged 
leadership  gave  vigour  and  confidence,  while  Julep's 
friendly  good  nature  received  an  additional  quality  from 
the  sensual  leer  that  usually  accompanied  it.  He  took  a 
perverse  pleasure  in  gently  ridiculing  Cray's  idealism  and 
John's  ignorance.  The  two  men  liked  each  other  for 
their  opposite  qualities  and  liked  the  youth,  both  for 
himself  and  for  the  way  in  which  he  drew  out  the  char- 
acter of  the  other.  They  admired  also  his  great  efficiency 
in  fishing  with  spear  or  hook,  in  shooting,  sailing  and  the 
like. 

Mrs.  Cray  in  her  passive  and  watchful  attitude  towards 
life  seemed  content  to  find  satisfaction  in  appreciating 
the  qualities  of  the  others.  Her  life  in  no  way  mingled 
with  that  of  the  men;  she  remained  outside,  a  spectator 
living  in  a  world  of  her  own  thoughts.     Her  relationship 


68  THE    MAINLAND 

with  her  husband  did  not  display  itself.  She  was  friendly 
and  kind  but  by  no  means  under  his  sway,  as  were  the 
two  men.  Perhaps  in  the  course  of  seven  years  his  bril- 
liant egoism  had  tired  her,  or  perhaps  she  found  in  her 
own  thoughts  a  more  congenial  interpretation  of  life. 

After  The  Venture  had  left  behind  the  North-West 
Cape,  many  islands  were  sighted.  Among  these  islands 
they  cruised  to  and  fro  for  some  days.  Cray  seemed  much 
interested,  especially  in  the  atolls  and  the  long  fringing 
reefs.  Sometimes  he  spent  whole  days  ashore  and  took 
Julep  with  him.  John  was  sorry  that  he  was  not  asked 
on  these  expeditions,  especially  as  he  believed  they  were 
looking  for  something  about  which  he  knew  nothing, 
and  was  curious. 

He  had  spoken  very  little  to  Mrs.  Cray  and  was  shy 
of  talking  to  her  now  that  they  were  left  alone.  She 
didn't  seem  anxious  either  to  talk  to  him,  and  beyond 
some  friendly  greeting  or  question  she  was  silent.  Usually 
she  would  sit  aft  near  the  companion-way  either  paint- 
ing or  reading  one  of  the  numerous  books  that  she  had 
brought  on  board.  John  would  go  ashore  and  lie  lazily 
in  the  grass  watching  the  sand  insects  or  would  roam  the 
beach,  looking  for  shells.  His  orders  were  not  to  go  far 
from  the  boat. 

One  evening  when  he  was  squatting  in  the  bows  of  The 
Venture  catching  snapper  with  hook  and  line  at  the  turn 
of  the  tide,  Mrs.  Cray  walked  forward  and  stood  watching 
his  occupation.  He  had  already  four  shining  fish  upon 
the  deck;  each  weighed  fourteen  pounds  or  more,  and 
he  was  just  playing  a  fifth.  The  bright  sides  of  the  fish 
caught  the  sunlight,  the  crimson  and  silver  scales  reflect* 
ing  it  like  jewels. 


THE     SEABOARD  69 

"  Why  do  you  catch  so  many?  "  said  Mrs.  Cray,  "  we 
can  never  eat  all  those." 

"  It's  fun  catching  them,"  said  John  with  a  hasty 
glance  up. 

"  You  don't  want  all  those." 

"  No,"  admitted  John,  landing  the  fifth. 

"  What  colour  he  has,  and  what  a  fight  he  makes  for 
life.     Put  him  back,  you  don't  want  him." 

"  Very  well."  He  pulled  out  the  hook  and  let  the 
fish  slide  through  his  hands  into  the  sea.  It  lay  for  a  time 
on  its  side  exhausted,  the  gills  under  the  silver  plate  of 
the  operculum  making  great  play.  While  they  watched, 
the  fish  righted  itself,  then  with  a  suddenly  realized 
freedom  dived  deep  through  the  clear  water. 

"  See  how  glad  he  is  to  live,"  she  said;  then  looking  at 
those  on  the  deck.  "  Their  beauty  soon  fades  when  they 
are  dead." 

Peering  down  through  the  water  John  saw  two  laige 
jelly-fish.  Their  transparent  flesh  was  tinted  a  pale  blue, 
and  their  streaming  tentacles  swayed  in  the  currents. 
"Do  you  see  those  jelly-fish?"  he  said,  feeling  a  little 
embarrassed  and  glad  to  speak. 

"  Yes,  I  watched  others  like  them  this  morning,  numbers 
of  them  passed  the  boat." 

"  They  look  nice,  don't  they?  "  said  John,  then  added, 
as  though  ashamed  of  praising  them,  "  though  they  are 
no  good  to  eat,  and  they  sting  awfully  when  one  swims." 

Mrs.  Cray  looked  through  the  clear  waters  with  eyes 
full  of  appreciation.  The  fragile  texture  and  pale  colour 
of  the  sea  creatures  evidently  pleased  her.  "  They  have 
such  a  beautiful  name,"  she  said.  "  They  are  called 
Medusae." 


70  THE    MAINLAND 

John  repeated  the  word  as  though  tasting  about  it  a 
whimsical  quality,  then  asked,  "  Are  some  words  better 
than  others?  " 

"Yes,  don't  you  think  they  are?"  He  hadn't  ever 
thought  about  it,  but  he  registered  the  fact  for  further 
consideration.  "  Now  I  want  you  to  paddle  me  to  the 
shore,"  Mrs.  Cray  went  on.  "  The  other  two  are  having 
all  the  fun.  I  like  the  look  of  this  island  and  want  to 
climb  the  hill  over  there  and  see  from  the  top  of  it." 

John  was  surprised,  suddenly  very  pleased.  Mrs.  Cray 
had  spoken  very  little  to  him  and  consequently  he  had 
regarded  her  with  curiosity  and  a  certain  mixture  of 
antagonism;  now,  as  he  looked  at  her  slim  figure  stand- 
ing by  the  mast,  he  realized  that  she  was  beautiful  and 
interesting.  If  some  words  were  better  than  others,  then 
this  woman  was  better  and  different  from  anything  he 
had  imagined.  With  this  new-sprung  interest  the  thought 
came  that  perhaps  she  had  felt  lonely  that  day. 

When  he  pulled  up  the  dinghy  to  the  side  of  the 
cutter,  he  had  an  impulse  to  help  her  in  but  checked  it, 
feeling  it  to  be  absurd.  When  she  put  out  her  hand  for 
his  support  he  was  pleased.  As  he  sat  opposite  to  her 
pulling  at  the  sculls  he  looked,  as  bravely  as  he  dared,  at 
the  soft  and  delicate  lines  of  her  face.  He  felt  a  con- 
sciousness of  himself,  was  glad  that  he  was  young  and 
strong,  and  that  the  exercise  of  sculling  showed  off  the 
muscles  of  his  brown  arms.  When  they  reached  the 
shore,  they  started  to  walk  inland,  and  John  discovered 
that  Mrs.  Cray  had  the  power,  though  indeed  she  had 
spoken  very  little,  of  raising  this  tiny  expedition  to  the 
level  of  an  adventure.  He  felt  it  indeed  to  be  an  excit- 
ing  adventure.     Into  the   smallest   incidents  Mrs.    Cray 


THE     SEABOARD  71 

was  able  to  read  a  pleased  significance.  She  laughed  at 
trifles,  and,  at  the  same  time  as  she  endowed  them  with 
humour  and  meaning,  extracted  from  them  those  very 
qualities.  To  John's  newly  awakened  imagination  the 
incidents  of  their  progress  shone,  each  isolated  and  per- 
fect, and  he  learnt  how  that  in  the  simplest  things  joy  can 
be  discovered. 

When  they  reached  the  hill-top,  which  was  little  more 
than  a  sand-dune,  they  could  see  inland  towards  distant 
tree-clumps  and  high  rocks.  In  front  of  them  was  a 
wide  stretch  of  blown  sand  which  spread  out  on  either 
side  in  a  long  crescent,  following  the  edge  of  the  fringing 
reef.  It  looked  too  far  to  walk  to  the  high  land  in  the 
centre,  so  they  sat  down  where  they  were,  and  Mrs.  Cray 
began  to  make  rough  drawings  in  a  sketch-book.  John 
sprawled  on  the  sand  chewing  a  grass  blade.  At  first  she 
made  him  talk  about  Kanna  Island,  his  father  and  mother, 
and  the  life  they  lived  together.  He  was  glad  to  speak  of 
them,  feeling  her  sympathy.  Once  started  he  talked  on, 
eager  to  tell  his  experience,  his  knowledge  of  wild  life 
and  wild  things,  of  the  island  mice  that  carried  their 
young  in  a  little  pouch,  of  the  bandicoots  whose  skin  was 
so  tender  that  it  tore  when  you  caught  them  unless  you 
were  very  careful,  of  the  grasshoppers  that  the  bandi- 
coots eat  and  that  imitated  twigs  in  self-protection,  and 
of  the  sand-living  insects.  These  last  were  round  about 
them  in  the  sunshine,  working  at  their  various  tasks. 
Mrs.  Cray  put  down  her  drawing  to  watch  the  work  of 
the  burrowing  sand-wasps  while  he  told  her  of  their 
habits. 

Two  hours  went  by  very  quickly.     John  talked  all  the 
time,    while    Mrs.    Cray    listened    and    asked    occasional 


72  THE     MAINLAND 

questions.  Then  she  remembered  that  they  must  go  back 
and  prepare  supper  before  the  others  returned.  On  their 
way  back  to  the  shore  John  plucked  a  large  seed-head  of 
a  plant  resembling  a  giant  dandelion.  He  held  it  up  for 
her  to  see  the  perfect  globe  of  its  delicate  structure. 

"  When  I  was  a  child,"  she  said,  "  we  used  to  tell  the 
time  with  seeds  like  that." 

"How?" 

"  By  blowing  them.  If  you  blow  five  times  to  send 
the  seeds  all  flying,  then  it's  five  o'clock." 

"  But  not  really?  " 

"  No,  not  really,  it's  just  a  child's  game.  We  liked  to 
see  each  little  seed  floating  in  the  wind." 

He  gave  a  puff  and  a  cloud  of  tiny  white  parachutes 
went  flying,  then  he  dropped  the  stem,  not  deigning  to 
play  a  child's  game  with  those  that  still  clung  to  the 
central  disk.  Mrs.  Cray  watched  the  seeds  floating  in 
eddies  of  air.  Even  this  small  incident  she  seemed  to 
rescue  from  insignificance.  The  dandelion-head  and  the 
separate  flying  seeds  took  rank  with  the  medusae  as  things 
of  beauty.  She  had  endowed  them  with  something  of  her 
own  grace,  or  rather  some  quality  possessed  in  common 
by  them  both  had  become  evident  through  her  joy  in 
them. 

John  wondered  what  she  had  been  like  as  a  child,  who 
were  her  companions,  and  where  had  she  lived,  but  he 
did  not  question  her,  the  idea  of  that  was  too  new. 

When  in  the  evening  Cray  and  Julep  returned  to  The 
Venture  Mrs.  Cray  made  no  allusion  to  her  visit  to  the 
land,  and  John,  following  her  lead,  said  nothing.  That 
night  he  thought  about  her  as  he  lay  on  deck  under  the 
stars.     Why  had  she  said  nothing,  when  his  instinct  had 


THE     SEABOARD  73 

been  to  tell  Cray  of  their  expedition?  The  next  day  he 
watched  her,  hoping  that  she  would  talk  to  him  again, 
but  the  loveliness  and  pleasure  of  yesterday  had  vanished. 
She  appeared  as  on  the  early  days  of  the  voyage,  self- 
contained  and  silent.  He  felt  indeed  humiliated  that  she 
seemed  hardly  to  recognize  his  existence. 

m 

For  a  week  they  had  been  among  the  islands,  but  the 
next  morning  Cray  gave  the  order  that  they  should  con- 
tinue their  course  north-westward.  He  told  them  he  was 
leaving  the  land  and  did  not  expect  again  to  strike  it  for 
four  days.  The  south-west  wind  which  holds  for  months 
in  that  region  bowled  them  along  over  the  waves.  They 
had  the  spinnaker  set  and  The  Venture  looked  like  a  white 
moth  that  in  summer-time  is  caught  on  the  surface  of  a 
pond,  carried  along  by  the  breeze.  By  night  the  men  kept 
watch  four  hours  at  a  time,  but  during  the  day  they  had 
no  fixed  rule,  Mrs.  Cray  taking  her  turn  at  the  helm. 
The  time  went  very  lazily,  the  weather  was  hot  and  cloud- 
less. They  were  sailing  now  between  latitudes  21  and  16 
south,  and  were  daily  going  farther  north.  At  midday 
they  would  sit  close  under  the  shadow  of  the  sails  and  be 
very  glad  when  the  sun  sank  westward.  During  these 
days  they  talked  a  good  deal,  coming  to  know  one  another 
in  the  way  that  only  close  companionship  can  teach  man  to 
know  man.  Cray  and  Julep  told  of  former  expeditions, 
while  John  listened  eager  to  hear  of  other  lands  and  seas. 
Mrs.  Cray  listened  also,  speaking  very  little,  though  she 
was  always  ready  to  pay  tribute  to  a  good  story.  Julep 
she  liked,  though  she  kept  him  at  very  respectful  dis- 
tance, and  was  unfeignedly  amused  by  his  good-natured 


74  THE     MAINLAND 

jibes  at  men  and  women.  Cray  talked  with  his  usual 
vivacity  and  intense  manner,  though  sometimes,  when  he 
was  telling  stories  that  she  had  heard  before,  it  was  just 
perceptible  that  she  was  a  little  bored.  Now  that  John 
observed  her  with  a  personal  interest  he  could  see  that  she 
remained  outside  and  apart  from  the  life  of  the  men. 
Often  she  would  be  away  by  herself  reading  in  the  cabin 
while  they  sat  together  and  talked.  This  was  as  it  had 
been  from  the  first  days  north  of  Kaimera,  but  he  felt  that 
things  were  not  quite  as  they  then  were.  He  himself  had 
changed,  and  since  their  walk  together  felt  himself  to  be 
as  her  secret  ally. 

On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  they  sighted  land  to 
the  westward.  As  they  drew  near  they  saw  that  there  was 
a  small  white  settlement  with  a  pier  for  loading  wool  to  the 
trading  steamers.  In  a  small  bay  to  the  north  of  the  set- 
tlement was  a  native  camp.  Cray  passed  the  pier  and 
dropped  anchor  opposite  to  the  camp.  The  natives  stood 
in  rows  along  the  beach  full  of  curiosity  concerning  the 
new  arrival. 

The  next  day  Cray  asked  John  to  come  ashore  with  him. 
He  said  he  wanted  to  talk  to  the  natives  and  to  see  what 
sort  of  fellows  they  were.  As  soon  as  they  reached  the 
land  two  or  three  natives  came  running  to  them  and  began 
at  once  to  ask  for  tobacco  in  pidgin-English.  Cray  took 
no  notice  of  these  importunities  beyond  looking  at  the  men 
with  a  kind  of  contemptuous  resentment.  They  followed 
him,  rather  abashed  but  still  clamorous.  By  the  time  the 
white  men  had  reached  the  camp  they  were  surrounded  by 
an  eager  crowd,  anxious  in  their  demands  for  tobacco, 
pipes,  handkerchiefs  and  other  of  the  desired  products  of 
civilization.     One  old  man  who  was  evidently  of  high 


THE     SEABOARD  75 

standing,  threatened  to  become  troublesome.     He  violently 
gesticulated,  demanding  that  his  requests  should  at  once  be 
gratified.     Cray  simply  looked  past  him  as  if  he  did  not 
exist,  then  noticing  a  man  who  was  still  sitting  by  one  of 
the  fires,  he  went  up  to  him  and  asked  with  slowness  and 
deliberation,  noting  each  answer  as  though  it  were  a  fact 
of  interest  and  importance,  what  was  the  name  of  the  tribe, 
of  the  place,  his  own  name  and  names  of  his  wives,  his 
father  and  mother.     Very  soon  the  others  ceased  their  de- 
mands  and  listened   interested.     The  old   man   of   high 
standing  became  anxious  to  volunteer  information.     He 
was  envious  of  Cray's  interest  in  the  other  man.     Again 
he  was  ignored.     There  was  now  no  thought  of  begging; 
they   were    all    silent    and    interested.     The   man    whom 
Cray  had  first  spoken  to,   and  who  now  was   standing 
up,   was   questioned   further.     He   was   delighted   at   the 
attention    paid    him,    doing    his    best    to    please    by    his 
answers.     This  became  too  much  for  the  old  chief,  who 
positively  implored  to  be  heard.     Cray  now  relented   a 
little,  telling  him  that  he  wished  to  see  some  of  their 
boomerangs,  their  spears,  their  throwing-sticks  and  shields. 
A  collection  was  soon  displayed,  and  this  simple-minded 
and  primitive  people  offered  in  reward  for  his  condescend- 
ing notice  nearly  everything  that  they  had  in  their  camp, 
this  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to 
despise  them  and  had  shown  his  contempt.     After  refusing 
the  many  gifts  which  they  offered  he  distributed  some  sticks 
of  tobacco  brought  for  that  purpose.     These  were  much 
appreciated,  and  the  subdued  natives  put  out  their  brown 
delicate-looking  hands  not  daring  to  ask. 

For  some  hours  Cray  stayed  in  the  camp  talking  with 
the  natives,  John  remaining  with  him  full  of  admiration 


76  THE     MAINLAND 

for  the  way  he  asserted  his  control.  He  asked  about  the 
seaboard  northward  and  of  the  various  tribes  that  in- 
habited the  coast.  There  were  wild  fellows  on  the  islands 
they  told  him,  wicked  fellows  who  killed  every  one  who 
landed,  both  white  and  black.  When  he  had  learnt  all 
that  he  needed,  he  took  the  old  chief  aside  and  asked  to 
see  the  tribal  magic-sticks  that  were  kept  in  a  sacred  place. 
The  old  man  was  pleased  at  this  special  attention.  He 
took  them  away  into  the  bush  a  short  distance  and  there 
unearthed  some  of  the  sticks  and  waninga  of  the  tribe. 
By  means  of  indirect  flattery  Cray  persuaded  him  to  bar- 
gain two  of  these  precious  carved  sticks  for  a  pipe  and 
several  whole  pieces  of  tobacco.  He  gave  the  old  fellow  a 
red  handkerchief  thrown  in  to  please  him ;  they  parted  good 
friends,  both  satisfied  with  the  transaction. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  shore  Cray  was  in  high  good 
spirits.  "  These  little  sticks,"  he  said,  "  are  of  more  value 
among  wild  natives  than  any  amount  of  guns  and  revolvers. 
A  wild  man  doesn't  fear  death  you'll  find,  but  he's  afraid 
of  magic,  and  sticks  like  this  belonging  to  a  foreign  tribe 
have  the  power  to  kill  through  the  very  fear  of  them." 

John  listened,  full  of  wonder,  as  yet  only  half  under- 
standing. "  Now  come  with  me,"  Cray  continued  with  a 
growing  excitement  showing  through  his  quiet  manner. 
"  I  want  to  look  at  the  shore  along  here;  and  keep  your 
eyes  open  for  cover  where  two  men  could  hide  and  be 
hidden  even  from  the  eyes  of  a  black  fellow,  which  don't 
miss  much."  He  led  the  way  through  the  thick  scrub 
which  grew  along  the  edge  of  the  sand-dunes,  then  pausing 
and  pointing  to  a  dark-leaved  clump  of  acacia  that  grew 
in  a  hollow,  "  Could  you  crawl  through  that  do  you  think, 
and  jump  out  again  quick  at  the  word  of  command?  " 


THE    SEABOARD  77 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  John,  looking  doubtfully  at  the 
long  thorns. 

"  You'll  get  a  bit  scratched,  but  that's  all  in  the  day's 
work.     Crawl  in  and  let's  have  a  look  at  you." 

John  obeyed. 

"  Further  in,"  insisted  Cray,  "  I  can  still  see  a  foot. 
Now  turn  round  —  that's  all  right.  Is  there  room  for 
Julep  there?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  won't  like  the  thorns." 

"  Now  crawl  out  again  carefully  so  as  not  to  break  any 
of  them,"  Cray  laughed. 

John  was  now  thoroughly  curious  and  excited ;  he  asked 
what  was  going  to  happen.  Cray  only  smiled  indulgently, 
suggesting  that  it  was  time  to  get  back  for  lunch  on  board. 

rv 

The  next  morning  Cray  set  off  with  Julep  for  the  main- 
land. John,  who  felt  very  much  dissatisfied  at  not  being 
taken,  was  left  behind  with  Mrs.  Cray.  Half  the  night 
he  had  lain  awake  wondering  what  was  afoot.  Something 
certainly  was  going  to  happen,  and  he  was  afraid  that  he 
should  miss  the  excitement.  He  was  more  than  dis- 
appointed, he  was  cross  and  annoyed,  feeling  that  he  didn't 
care  even  to  go  ashore  and  fish  and  shoot  by  himself. 
For  the  last  five  days  Mrs.  Cray  had  hardly  spoken  to  him; 
now  he  rather  purposely  avoided  her.  He  sat  by  the 
forecastle  disconsolate,  mending  some  of  his  fishing  tackle. 
After  a  while  he  heard  his  name  called. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  trying  to  seem  indifferent. 

"  I  am  going  ashore,  will  you  carry  some  of  my  things 
for  me?  " 

He  went  aft  to  pull  up  the  dinghy.     Mrs.  Cray,  with 


78  THE     MAINLAND 

her  sketching-bag  in  her  hand,  was  on  the  steps  between 
the  cabin  and  the  deck.  John  noticed  at  once  that  she 
looked  happy  and  full  of  a  quiet  gaiety.  This  was  just 
as  she  had  been  on  their  expedition  together,  quite  differ- 
ent from  her  suppressed  character  of  the  last  few  days. 

"There  are  trees  over  there,  do  you  see?"  she  said. 
"  I  haven't  seen  trees  since  I  left  Perth.  I  shall  take  my 
painting  things  and  a  stool.  You  will  carry  it  for  me? 
And  let  us  take  some  lunch  too!  " 

She  looked  so  pleased  and  fresh  that  John's  annoyance 
all  disappeared.  The  spirit  of  adventure  which  she  could 
put  into  trifles  became  at  that  moment  greater  than  the 
mystery  of  Cray's  undivulged  plans.  By  the  time  that 
they  were  in  the  dinghy  John  was  glad  that  he  had  been 
left  behind.  When  they  reached  the  shore  they  walked 
up  the  bed  of  a  small  stream  which  trickled  through 
the  growth  of  grasses  and  flowering  herbs.  A  few  bushes 
grew  by  the  water's  side;  further  inland  the  pale  stems 
of  white  gum  trees  appeared  in  scattered  groups.  It 
was  too  hot  to  walk  far,  so  they  climbed  the  hill  a  little 
way  and  Mrs.  Cray  sat  down  under  the  shadow  of  wide 
branches.  She  began  to  make  drawings  of  the  tiny  creep- 
ing sundews  and  the  delicate  blue  orchids  that  grew  richly 
among  the  grass.  John  watched  her  pencil  and  the  play 
of  her  hand,  interested  by  her  power  to  trace  on  paper  the 
image  of  live  plants. 

In  the  valley  about  a  mile  distant  they  could  see  the 
native  camp,  where  the  white  figures  of  Cray  and  Julep 
could  be  discerned.  As  to  Cray's  purpose,  they  both  felt 
curiosity,  though  they  did  not  speak  of  this.  Mrs.  Cray 
questioned  about  John's  visit  to  the  camp  yesterday,  asking 
for  his  impressions.     He  had  as  yet  little  interest  in  the 


THE     SEABOARD  79 

natives;  not  understanding  them  he  thought  they  were 
ugly  and  dirty,  contemptible  in  their  begging  and  in  their 
subsequent  desire  to  please.  He  told  how  Cray  had  mas- 
tered them,  how  he  had  refused  the  proffered  presents,  and 
how  that  friendly  relations  had  been  ultimately  estab- 
lished. In  all  this  he  spoke  his  praise  from  his  heart, 
wishing  that  they  might  together  commend  the  qualities 
he  admired. 

"  Yes,  my  husband  is  very  good  with  natives,"  said 
Mrs.  Cray.  "  They  feel  his  intelligence  and  his  sym- 
pathy. He  is  extraordinarily  imaginative  in  some  things; 
he  understands  their  point  of  view." 

"  Have  you  seen  many  black-fellows  before  you  came 
here?" 

"  Yes,  we  lived  in  a  native  village  in  Tahiti  quite  by 
ourselves  for  six  months." 

"Did  you  like  them?" 

"  Oh  yes."  Her  eyes  showed  the  pleasure  of  recollec- 
tions. "  The  Tahitians  are  the  most  beautiful  people 
with  strong  supple  bodies,  that  is  where  they  are  in  the 
country  away  from  the  towns,  and  they  are  so  happy  and 
simple,  much  nicer  than  white  people." 

"  Nicer  than  white  people?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Yes,  they  are  more  happy.  They  know  what  con- 
tentment is,  and  haven't  invented  so  much  pain  for  them- 
selves. They  wear  very  few  clothes,  and  that's  a  good 
thing,  keeping  them  clean  and  sweet  in  the  wind,  the  sun 
and  the  rain.  People  in  Europe  are  always  dressed  too 
much  and  live  too  much  indoors." 

John  was  silent,  trying  to  digest  this  criticism  of  the 
whites.  It  seemed  strange  that  black  men,  even  the  best 
of  them,  should  be  considered  better  than  people  of  his 


80  THE     MAINLAND 

own  colour.  After  a  pause  he  said,  "  Tell  me  about 
Europe." 

Mrs.  Cray  smiled  at  so  wide  a  question.  "  No,  I  can't 
tell  you  all  that,  I  know  too  little  myself.  Perhaps  one 
day  you  may  go  there,  but  don't  be  in  a  hurry;  life  out 
here  is  wider  and  has  more  leisure.  Europe  has  taken 
thousands  of  years  to  make;  it  is  built  up  of  laws  and 
restrictions,  and  only  when  one  knows  the  best  of  it  from 
inside  is  it  possible  to  outgrow  its  restraint  and  to  learn 
very  slowly  some  of  its  freedom." 

This  answer  was  unsatisfying;  he  did  not  understand; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  were  trying  to  avoid  his  question. 
Remembering  his  father's  abuse  of  the  mainland  and  all 
the  life  of  men  and  cities,  he  wished  for  more  know- 
ledge. 

"  My  father  came  from  England  before  he  lived  in  the 
towns  —  in  Perth  and  Kaimera.  He  told  me  that  he  hated 
it  all."  John  was  embarrassed  by  speaking  about  his 
father  in  this  relation,  but  he  wanted  so  much  to  know 
more.  He  spoke  with  a  simple  earnestness,  feeling  that  by 
confessing  his  father's  beliefs  he  was  laying  open  part  of 
his  own  life.  "  He  said  that  there  was  no  place  on  the 
mainland  for  himself,  or  for  my  mother,  and  that  I  should 
only  learn  unhappiness.  He  told  me  to  go  back  to  the 
island  when  I  had  found  out  how  bad  and  rotten  it  all 
was." 

"  You  say  he  never  went  to  the  mainland,  nor  your 
mother  either?  " 

"  No." 

Mrs.  Cray  had  put  down  her  pencil  and  was  watching 
the  boy  with  interest.  After  a  short  pause  she  said: 
"  There  are  some  who  would  be  glad  to  get  away  from 


THE     SEABOARD  81 

it  all.     There  must  have   been   a  very   strong   reason." 

"  There  was,  but  that  I  can't  tell  you.  Though  that 
was  not  all.  He  never  wanted  to  go  back  anyhow.  I 
know  nothing  about  anything,"  John  complained,  "  but 
I  don't  believe  it's  as  bad  as  he  made  out." 

"  No,  it's  not  all  bad,"  Mrs.  Cray  smiled,  "  but  a 
great  deal  depends  on  how  you  learn  it.  In  a  way  you  are 
lucky  to  start  fresh  with  everything  before  you  unspoiled. 
That's  what  my  husband  said  when  you  swam  out  that 
first  day  at  Kaimera  and  had  breakfast  with  us.  It  will 
all  came  in  its  turn,  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  This  journey 
north  will  teach  you  something  before  you  are  let  loose  on 
the  cities." 

While  she  had  been  speaking  the  last  few  words  John's 
attention  had  veered  from  what  she  was  saying  to  her 
herself.  Quite  of  a  sudden  he  had  seen  her  personality 
as  an  object  of  grace,  something  to  be  reverenced  and  ad- 
mired. A  feeling  of  gratitude  filled  him,  that  this  woman, 
a  creature  from  another  world  as  she  seemed,  should  be 
talking  to  him  with  such  seriousness  and  intimacy.  That 
in  itself  was  wonderful,  but  not  so  wonderful  as  the  picture 
that  he  now  had  of  her  gentle  personality,  alone  amid  the 
untamed  landscape.  The  stem  of  the  white-barked  gum 
tree  at  her  back  had  a  grace  similar  to  her  own,  and  the 
thin  flat  leaves  that  spread  in  fans  from  its  delicate 
branches  cast  a  dappled  tracery  of  shadow  and  sunlight 
upon  her  face  and  blouse.  There  was  something  young  in 
her,  younger  than  himself;  both  body  and  spirit  had  the 
quality  of  a  flower  new  sprung  from  a  kind  soil. 

Looking  up,  she  met  his  glance  and  looked  away  again ; 
then  she  picked  up  her  pencil  and  continued  her  drawing. 
John,  feeling  her  slight  embarrassment,  also  looked  away, 


82  THE     MAINLAND 

and  gazed  at  the  blue  distance  of  the  hills,  then,  feeling 
a  pleasure  in  the  growing  silence  between  them,  he  looked 
up  into  the  branches  of  the  tree.  As  the  stem  tapered 
upwards  it  became  less  pale  than  the  main  trunk,  being 
tinted  with  blues  and  mauves.  His  eyes  followed  the 
slender  growth  and  were  suddenly  arrested  by  what,  at  the 
first  glance,  looked  like  a  large  and  irregular  swelling;  at 
the  next  he  saw  that  it  was  a  huge  lizard  that  clung  close 
against  the  stem.  For  a  moment  he  lay  still,  surprised  at 
its  size.  It  was  bigger  than  anything  he  had  ever  seen  on 
Kanna  Island,  being  at  least  five  feet  long;  then  he  scram- 
bled up.     "  Look  at  that  enormous  lizard,"  he  called. 

Mrs.  Cray  stood  up  for  a  better  view,  and  they  looked 
for  the  first  time  on  one  of  the  giant  iguanas  of  the 
North-West.  The  lizard  remained  quite  still  and  un- 
concerned, allowing  them  to  admire  his  green  and  bronze 
sides,  his  flat  broad  head  and  wakeful,  blinking  eyes. 
After  a  while  John  threw  a  stick  to  make  him  move.  In 
an  instant  he  ran  out  along  a  bough  and  half  jumped, 
half  fell  into  the  next  tree.  There  was  a  great  scatter  of 
dry  bark  amid  the  rasping  sweeps  of  his  tail,  and  he  was 
gone.  They  followed  but  could  find  nothing  of  him; 
big  as  he  was,  he  had  disappeared,  though  they  knew  he 
was  not  far  away  watching  them,  concealed  by  his  pro- 
tective colouring.  John  told  of  other  smaller  lizards  on 
Kanna  Island,  of  the  bush-devils  who  are  covered  with 
spines  and  who  drink  through  their  skins,  of  the  little 
sand-lizards  with  tiny  legs  and  a  long  body  that  disappear 
as  a  flash  into  loose  sand,  and  of  the  geckos  that  live 
under  loose  bark.  He  stripped  bark  from  the  nearest  tree 
and  found  several  of  these  latter.     Mrs.  Cray  took  the 


THE     SEABOARD  83 

slow-moving  little  creatures  in  her  hands.  She  was 
pleased  at  the  round  cup-like  toes  that  clung  to  her  fingers. 
She,  in  turn,  told  of  the  heath-lizards  of  England  and  of 
the  handsome  green  fellows  that  live  at  Fontainebleau. 
For  some  time  they  walked  on,  looking  for  other  live 
things,  discovering  under  bark  monstrous  spiders  and 
long-legged  fluffy  centipedes,  as  well  as  creatures  which 
neither  of  them  could  name.  At  lunch  time  they  went 
back  to  the  shade  of  the  eucalyptus  clump  where  they  had 
left  the  camp-stool  and  the  sketching  things.  In  the  easy 
talk  over  their  morning's  adventures,  John  was  happy 
with  a  new  and  unclouded  happiness.  This  happiness, 
which  sprang  from  a  fuller  and  more  lively  appreciation 
of  everything  in  life,  possessed  him,  making  his  heart  feel 
light  and  his  body  the  airy  flame  of  his  spirit.  In  the 
afternoon  when  they  walked  back  towards  the  shore  he 
was  grave  and  self-contained;  with  no  words  could  he  ex- 
press the  joy  he  felt  in  their  day's  companionship.  He 
was  contented  to  breathe  in  silence  the  cool  breeze  from  the 
sea,  glad  that  he  was  alive. 

v 
Mrs.  Cray  and  John  were  back  in  The  Venture  in  good 
time  to  prepare  supper,  but  he  had  not  been  at  work  long 
when  Julep's  whistle  sounded  from  the  beach  as  a  call  for 
the  dinghy.  John  pulled  across  to  fetch  them.  He  saw 
that  Cray  was  in  good  spirits.  As  he  stepped  from  the 
dinghy  to  the  deck  he  told  John  to  hurry  on  with  a  cold 
supper  as  he  had  things  to  say  to  them  all,  and  they  would 
have  to  go  ashore  again  that  evening.  John's  interest  in 
adventure  kindled  in  the  presence  of  Cray's  keen  person- 


84  THE     MAINLAND 

ality,  soon  blazing  to  excitement.  He  tried  to  find  out 
from  Julep  what  was  to  happen,  but  Julep  would  say 
nothing  beyond  letting  drop  tantalizing  hints. 

After  the  meal  Cray  drew  back  chairs  for  himself  and 
his  wife  on  to  the  poop,  while  Julep  and  John  seated 
themselves  on  the  cabin  roof.  After  a  short  pause  that 
their  attentions  might  be  fixed,  he  began  to  speak  of  the 
venture  which  months  ago  he  and  Julep  had  hatched  in 
Paris. 

With  his  incisive,  alert  manner  he  went  straight  to  the 
heart  of  his  subject.  "  The  two  boats  that  we  saw  yester- 
day were  pearling  luggers  from  Broom.  This  is  the  be- 
ginning of  the  season  of  their  best  work.  You'll  have 
heard  that  there's  a  big  industry  in  shell  at  Broom,  and 
the  men  who  run  it  are  very  particular  whom  they  let  in. 
They  have  a  ring,  with  which  any  outsider  finds  it  diffi- 
cult to  compete." 

"Distinctly  unhealthy,"  broke  in  Julep;  "a  man 
wouldn't  live  a  month  if  he  tried  it.  that  is  if  he  had  any 
prospect  of  success.  I  was  there  a  matter  of  eight  years 
ago,  and  I  know." 

Cray  went  on,  regardless  of  the  interruption.  "  The 
law  is  that  no  black  or  yellow  man  shall  be  employed  on 
the  mainland.  But  the  ring  of  pearlers  at  Broom  is  so 
strong  that  an  exception  is  made.  They  have  Japanese 
divers,  and  pay  a  good  price."  He  made  a  slight  pause, 
then  continued :  "  My  scheme  is  to  cut  out  the  regular 
traders  and  take  some  of  the  pearls.  Up  north-west  from 
here  there  are  numberless  islands,  some  unchartered;  and 
some  have  blacks  on  them,  really  wild  fellows,  not  like  the 
half-tame  ones  in  the  camp  yonder.     White  men  have 


THE     SEABOARD  85 

never  been  near  them.  They  only  show  themselves  with 
spears  and  boomerangs,  ready  to  fight." 

"I'm  going  to  make  friends  with  these  wild  men  and 
make  them  work  for  me;  I  shall  pay  them  in  tobacco  and 
presents,  things  they  value  more  than  money.  The  diffi- 
culty lies  at  the  start  .  .  .  getting  into  touch.  .  .  .  After 
that  all  will  be  easy."     He  spoke  now  directly  to  John. 

"  You  understand  there  will  be  danger,  and  it's  illegal. 
Against  us  there  is  the  law,  the  natives,  and,  what  is 
perhaps  most  dangerous  of  all,  the  people  in  the  regular 
trade.  Fortunately  they  have  no  suspicion.  Our  first 
difficulty  will  be  the  natives.  For  the  natives  we  must 
have  an  interpreter  who  can  talk  and  from  whom  I  can 
learn  something  of  the  language." 

Mrs.  Cray's  interest  was  held,  she  knew  vaguely  the 
scheme,  though  the  details  were  new  to  her.  Her  husband 
went  on: 

"  Nothing  on  earth,  but  force,  could  compel  one  of 
those  fellows  on  shore  to  go  up  north  among  the  wild  tribes. 
They  would  be  like  lambs  among  wolves,  and  they  know 
it.  All  the  same,  I  must  take  one  with  me,"  he  added 
with  a  smile.  His  intense  manner  now  relaxed,  and  he 
spoke  as  if  reviewing  with  an  easy  mind  the  details  of  his 
plan.  "  There  is  a  man  in  the  camp,  whom  I  talked  with 
yesterday  and  again  this  morning,  called  Teacoopoo.  He 
is  an  intelligent  little  fellow,  strong  and  hardy  looking. 
He  is  the  man  I  shall  take  with  me.  I  am  going  ashore 
in  about  half  an  hour,  and  John  will  bring  back  the 
dinghy.  At  six  o'clock  I  want  you  two,"  nodding  to 
Julep  and  John,  "  to  go  ashore  a  quarter  of  a  mile  north  of 
the  place  where  the  thick  clump  of  acacias  is.     You  must 


86  THE    MAINLAND 

pull  the  dinghy  up  and  hide  it  in  the  bushes.  Then  go 
and  hide,  both  of  you,  at  the  place  I  pointed  out  to  John 
yesterday.  You  must  be  there  by  six,  and  out  of  sight. 
At  half-past  I  shall  come,  bringing  with  me  Teacoopoo." 
He  laughed,  partly  amused  at  his  own  dramatic  mode  of 
talking  and  partly  at  the  pleasant  picture  of  his  device. 
"  There  may  be  two  of  them,"  he  added,  "  but  I  shall  try 
and  bring  only  one.  When  I  call  you  are  to  jump  out  of 
that  bush  like  knives.  I  shall  have  him  close,  and  you 
will  be  able  to  grab  his  legs.  Bring  a  gag  with  you,  Julep; 
the  great  thing  is  not  to  let  him  shout.  Dont  hurt  him  if 
you  can  help.  Black  fellows  if  they  are  away  from  their 
tribe  die  easily  if  they  are  a  little  out  of  sorts.  Take  cord 
to  tie  him  up  with.  We'll  get  him  into  the  dinghy,  on 
board  and  out  to  sea  before  they  know  he's  missing.  Is 
that  all  clear?  "  he  asked,  looking  straight  at  John. 

Julep  screwed  up  his  face  in  a  kindly  grin  and  answered 
for  him.  "  Yes  John's  all  right,  he's  just  bursting  to 
tackle  our  friend  Tea-cup." 

They  all  laughed  at  the  nickname,  and  Mrs.  Cray  re- 
marked with  compassion,  "  Poor  Tea-cup,"  then  to  her 
husband,  "  You'll  take  him  back  to  his  tribe  when  we 
return,  and  not  let  him  be  hurt?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Cray,  "  he  will  be  as  safe  as  any  of 
us,  safer.  Three  or  four  months  away  from  his  tribe  won't 
do  him  any  harm.  In  a  day  or  two  he  will  be  quite  happy, 
and  when  I  bring  him  back  I'll  give  him  more  presents 
than  black  boy  ever  dreamed  of.  You  know  Upiko  who 
was  with  us,  and  how  he  cried  when  we  left  —  well,  this 
fellow  will  be  the  same."  For  a  while  he  went  on  talking, 
pleased  at  recollections,  telling  of  adventures  in  Tahiti,  of 
the  faithful  Upiko  and  his  fellow-tribesmen.     When  Cray 


THE     SEABOARD  87 

was  in  this  mood  he  carried  everything  before  him,  like  a 
fresh  breeze  over  a  sunny  sea.  By  the  time  John  had 
paddled  him  across  to  the  beach  he  was  thoroughly  in- 
fected with  the  spirit,  and  as  he  watched  him  walk  away 
alone  towards  the  native  camp  he  had  no  doubts  as  to  the 
success  of  the  enterprise. 

At  the  appointed  time  John  and  Julep  reached  the 
beach.  They  hid  the  dinghy  in  thick  bushes,  and  soon 
afterwards  crawled  into  their  own  hiding-place.  Julep 
swore  a  good  deal  at  the  thorns,  and  laughingly  made 
John  go  first  to  smooth  them  the  right  way,  as  he  put  it. 
Once  inside,  he  remarked  that  the  ruddy  things  would  now 
all  be  pointing  the  wrong  way  when  they  came  to  get  out. 
As  they  squatted  there  together  at  such  close  quarters  John 
felt  the  physical  charm  of  his  companion's  easy-going 
strength.  There  was  something  so  firm  and  unyielding  in 
Julep  and  so  suggestive  of  kindly  good  nature  that  it  was 
not  difficult  to  believe  the  truth  of  the  tales  he  told  of  his 
successful  encounters  with  women.  He  began  now  to 
speak  about  the  black  girls  that  he  had  seen  at  the  camp, 
saying  that  he  wished  Cray  was  not  in  so  damned  a  hurry 
to  be  off,  and  that  two  of  the  younger  ones  were  not  so  bad, 
to  his  thinking.  He  went  on  to  complain  in  coarse 
phrases  how  that  it  was  all  very  well  for  Cray,  who  had 
his  wife  with  him,  but  that  he  hadn't  seen  a  woman  since 
he  left  Kaimera.  The  brutality  of  his  meaning  struck 
John  like  a  blow;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  been  hit  in  an  un- 
expected and  tender  place.  Besides  being  hurt,  he  was 
angry.  Julep  had  no  right  to  talk  about  Mrs.  Cray  in 
that  way.  He  had  no  right  to  speak  of  others  from  his 
point  of  view.  It  was  a  hateful  point  of  view  John 
thought.     He  didn't  say  anything,  though  he  felt  indig- 


88  THE    MAINLAND 

nant  —  indignant  that  he  had  been  made  to  see  something 
that  he  had  not  wished  to  think  about.  He  felt  a  pas- 
sionate resentment  against  marriage  and  married  people. 

It  was  now  late  twilight,  and  for  some  minutes  they 
waited  in  silence.  The  sound  of  Cray's  voice  warned 
them  for  action.  Julep  handed  the  gag  to  John.  "  I'll 
grab  his  legs  and  bring  him  down,"  he  whispered,  "  you 
sh-shove  this  in  his  mouth."  The  voices  came  nearer,  and 
Cray  and  Teacoopoo  halted  opposite  the  bush;  then  Cray, 
without  raising  his  voice,  but  still  speaking  as  though  in 
conversation,  gave  the  order. 

In  a  moment,  regardless  of  all  thorns,  they  sprang  from 
their  ambush.  The  unfortunate  Teacoopoo  gave  one 
squawk  of  terror  as  he  came  to  the  ground.  John  made 
a  bad  shot  for  his  mouth  and  nearly  got  bitten.     Julep 

panted  in  a  fierce  whisper,  "  Stop  his  b mouth,"  then 

in  the  next  moment  Teacoopoo  was  spluttering  into  the  gag, 
while  Julep's  weight  pinned  him  to  the  earth. 

Cray  stood  by,  calmly  watching.  "  That's  right,"  he 
said.  "  Now  let  me  have  the  cord."  They  tied  up  their 
capture  by  his  legs,  his  wrists,  and  his  thumbs,  and  soon 
had  him  on  board  the  dinghy.  From  the  camp  there 
came  no  sound.     All  had  gone  well. 

So  soon  as  they  reached  The  Venture  they  hoisted  sail 
and  the  light  evening  wind  carried  them  out  to  sea.  Once 
they  were  out  of  sight  of  land,  Cray,  who  all  the  while 
had  been  trying  to  put  Teacoopoo  at  his  ease  and  allay  his 
terrors  by  assurances  that  he  would  soon  return  to  his  own 
people,  untied  his  bonds.  The  black  fellow  was  a  little 
consoled  and  not  so  terrified  as  at  first.  Before  long,  how- 
ever, he  became  very  sick.  When  at  length  they  all  had  to 
turn  in  he  was  tied  to  the  anchor  up  in  the  bows  for  fear 


THE    SEABOARD  89 

that  in  his  convulsions  he  might  fall  overboard.  John  took 
the  helm  for  the  first  watch.  His  thoughts  were  in  tumult 
and  troubled.  He  felt  disappointed  in  the  whole  adven- 
ture, not  because  he  was  particularly  sorry  for  poor  Tea- 
cup, but  oh!  he  was  restless,  and  the  boat  was  small.  He 
thought  of  Cray  and  Mrs.  Cray.  Yesterday's  expedition 
seemed  remote,  not  to  be  regained.  Then  he  thought  of 
Julep  and  the  black  girls,  and  though  the  cool  moonlight 
fell  very  gently  upon  the  waves  he  discovered  both  in  the 
undulating  reflection  of  the  water  and  in  the  night  air  a 
warm,  inextinguishable  pain. 

VI 

On  the  eastern  shore  of  an  uncharted,  nameless  island 
there  is  a  wide  bay.  Outside  the  bay  the  coral  reef  runs 
north  and  south,  enclosing  the  shallow  water  of  a  lagoon. 
The  rocky  hills  of  the  island  rise  westward  to  high  cliffs, 
covered  here  and  there  with  tropical  jungle.  The  foot 
hills  fall  away  to  open  country,  where  grow  luxuriant  blue 
and  green  grasses.  These  reach  down  to  the  sand  of  the 
sea's  edge.  North  of  the  bay  a  rocky  promontory,  a  spur 
of  the  central  ridge,  affords  protection  from  the  north; 
behind  it  a  creek  runs  inland. 

After  four  days  of  cruising  among  the  neighbouring 
islands  The  Venture  skirted  along  the  edge  of  the  reef 
looking  for  a  passage  between  the  white  coral  rocks.  Cray 
was  pleased  at  the  view  of  the  long  reef.  For  the  last 
three  days  Cray  had  sailed  from  island  to  island  and 
had  found  nothing  that  looked  so  good.  He  told  John  to 
dive  in  and  examine  the  sides  of  the  reef,  also  the  floor  of 
the  lagoon.  The  shells  that  he  brought  up  were  the  large 
pearl  shells  of  the  North-West,  and  Cray  expressed  him- 


90  THE     MAINLAND 

self  satisfied.  The  look  of  the  country  inland  was  also  to 
his  liking.  The  island  was  large,  with  several  streams  of 
clear  water  running  down  from  the  rocks  to  be  lost  in  a 
tangle  of  rich  grasses.  That  it  was  inhabited  he  felt  little 
doubt,  for  he  had  seen  natives  on  smaller  islands  in  the 
vicinity,  also  several  on  rafts,  who  had  made  quickly  for  the 
shore  as  The  Venture  approached.  Anchor  was  dropped 
under  the  shelter  of  the  northern  promontory  far  enough 
from  the  shore  to  be  out  of  range  of  spears  and  boom- 
erangs. "  I  like  this  place,"  said  Cray,  "  it's  the  best 
we've  seen  so  far.  I  don't  think  we'll  do  better.  As  soon 
as  we  are  friends  with  the  natives,  we'll  have  a  camp  on 
shore  and  put  up  tents.  There  is  plenty  of  timber  up  on 
those  hills,  so  we  can  cut  down  poles,  and  stretch  a  fly  for 
sitting  under."  Smiling  at  the  prospect,  he  turned  to 
Julep,  "  Now,  Julep,  I  want  you  to  make  some  really  nice 
cakes  and  some  loaves  of  bread  that  we  can  take  ashore  as 
presents  this  afternoon.  Not  very  big  ones  —  we  mustn't 
pamper  them  —  but  nice  ones  to  make  them  interested." 

Cray  had  rejected  so  many  promising  places  that  they 
were  all  glad  he  had  at  last  settled  to  stay.  They  were 
pleased  at  the  look  of  the  island,  also  at  the  prospect  of 
a  camp  on  shore. 

The  short  voyage  northward  had  been  accomplished  by 
the  end  of  the  first  day,  the  rest  of  the  time  had  been  spent 
in  visiting  various  beaches,  prospecting  for  beds  of  shell. 
After  the  first  night  Tea-cup  had  ceased  to  be  sea-sick, 
and  in  the  morning  allowed  himself  to  be  consoled  with 
hot  food,  tea  and  brandy.  Mrs.  Cray  and  Cray  were  very 
gentle  with  him.  John  and  Julep,  following  their  ex- 
ample, extended  a  friendly  tolerance. 

Cray  spent  much  of  his  time  forward  in  the  bows  learn- 


THE     SEABOARD  91 

ing  to  talk  the  native  language.  By  the  time  that  they 
reached  the  island  Tea-cup  was  at  his  ease;  and  some- 
times, when  eating  the  good  food  of  the  white  man,  quite 
cheerful.  He  soon  fell  under  the  spell  of  Cray's  influence, 
having  for  him  an  unlimited  respect  and  already  the  seeds 
of  a  dog-like  devotion.  During  the  days  of  prospecting 
John  and  Julep  had  their  time  and  thoughts  much  taken 
up  with  the  work  ashore  and  in  the  water,  also  in  learning 
the  difficult  words  of  Tea-cup's  language,  which  Cray  in- 
sisted that  they  must  acquire.  Mrs.  Cray  kept  as  usual  to 
her  own  thoughts,  and  John,  instead  of  being  resentful  that 
she  hardly  noticed  him,  was  pleased  that  she  should 
keep  to  herself  any  trace  of  memories  they  shared  to- 
gether. 

On  the  day  of  their  arrival  they  kept  watch  for  any 
sign  of  natives,  but  could  see  none,  either  on  the  wide  sweep 
of  the  beach  or  further  inland.  In  the  afternoon  Cray  and 
John  went  ashore.  They  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the 
high  rocks  of  the  promonotory,  there  depositing  their  offer- 
ing of  cakes  and  bread.  Julep  watched  from  The  Venture, 
with  a  rifle  handy  in  case  they  should  be  attacked.  His 
instructions  were  not  to  shoot  unless  absolutely  necessary. 
That  night  they  heard  the  bull-roarers  x  at  first  far  off, 
then  coming  nearer.  Soon  there  were  half  a  dozen  sound- 
ing from  different  quarters,  so  that  they  knew  the  island 
must  be  full  of  natives.  Watch  was  kept  through  the 
night  for  fear  that  the  boat  might  be  attacked.  At  the 
sound  of  the  bull-roarers  drawing  nearer  Tea-cup  was  in 
a  sweat  of  terror,  swearing  that  the  island  was  full  of  bad 

1  Bull-roarers  are  magic  instruments :  pieces  of  flat  wood  tied 
to  a  string  which  when  swung  round  rapidly  makes  a  moaning, 
sobbing  sound,  very  suggestive  of  mystery  and  magic. 


92  THE    MAINLAND 

men  who  would  eat  them  all.  He  went  into  the  forecastle, 
hoping  to  hide  himself. 

For  the  first  four  hours  of  the  night  Cray  kept  watch. 
This  excitement  and  danger  was  far  more  what  he  had 
come  for  than  the  pearls  or  the  riches  they  could  give. 
The  moaning  sob  of  the  bull-roarers  filled  him  with  an 
elation  that  carried  him  out  of  himself  away  into  the  night. 
The  primitive  men  over  there  in  the  bush,  fierce  and  un- 
controlled, he  was  going  to  conquer.  Confident  in  his 
power,  he  hoped  to  make  himself  their  benevolent  despot. 
This  island  with  its  bays  and  headlands  formed  a  perfect 
kingdom.  Its  savage  inhabitants  he  would  subdue  by  the 
gentle  strength  which  he  knew  was  in  him. 

The  next  two  days  no  natives  showed  themselves, 
though  it  could  be  seen  from  the  thin  columns  of  smoke 
from  their  fires  that  they  had  come  down  to  the  lower 
slopes  of  the  foot-hills.  At  night  they  came  close  to 
the  shore,  swinging  their  bull-roarers  from  the  height 
of  the  promontory  to  frighten  away  the  intruders.  Each 
day  Cray  left  upon  the  rocks  presents  of  food  which  in 
the  night  the  natives  carried  away.  On  the  third  day  he 
took  with  him  beads  and  pieces  of  looking-glass  as  well  as 
food.  As  he  was  climbing  the  rocks  he  saw  two  naked 
figures  squatting  by  some  bushes.  They  had  in  their 
hands  spears  and  throwing-sticks,  and  watched  him  in- 
tently. Without  pausing  he  walked  past,  put  down  his 
presents  at  the  usual  place,  then  as  he  returned  he  called 
out  in  native  language  that  he  wished  to  talk,  and  had 
brought  many  presents.  There  was  no  response,  and  the 
two  figures  disappeared.  "  They  are  very  shy  as  yet,"  he 
said  to  John,  "  but  before  long  we  shall  make  friends.  I 
like  them  for  being  shy.     It's  their  native  good  manners, 


THE     SEABOARD  93 

that  many  white  people  have  forgotten."  He  looked  in- 
tently at  the  waving  grass.  "  At  any  rate  we've  raised 
their  interest.  They  are  all  round  us  now.  I  can't  see 
them,  but  I  can  feel  that  they  are  there:  fifty  of  them  at 
least."  John  could  feel  it  also,  and  was  a  little  uncom- 
fortable. "  White  men,"  Cray  continued,  "  would  by  this 
time  have  killed  anything  so  strange  as  we  are  to  these 
little  fellows;  but  they  are  not  frightened  of  us,  they  are 
only  inquisitive.  The  savage  is  not  a  bad  fellow  when 
you  come  to  know  him,  and  if  you  treat  him  with  respect 
he'll  seldom  let  you  down." 

When  they  reached  the  shore  Cray  again  shouted  that 
he  wished  to  talk;  then  they  sat  down  for  a  while  and 
waited.  After  a  little  a  naked  brown  figure  appeared 
beckoning  that  they  should  follow.  He  led  them  towards 
the  centre  of  the  island  along  a  narrow  path  through  thick, 
high  grass.  When  they  had  gone  a  good  half-mile,  and 
were  by  this  time  quite  hidden  from  The  Venture,  John 
began  to  feel  uneasy.  He  remarked  that  it  was  a  long 
way  back  to  the  boat. 

"  Yes,  there's  no  going  back  now,"  Cray  answered 
cheerfully.  "  They  are  all  round  us;  can't  you  see  the 
grass  waving,  and  behind  us  too?  The  great  thing  is  to 
show  them  we  are  not  in  the  least  afraid.  If  they  thought 
we  were  afraid  we  shouldn't  have  two  minutes  to  live. 
As  it  is  we  are  perfectly  all  right." 

Their  guide  led  them  further,  till  the  path  opened  on 
a  wide  clearing  which  was  trampled  hard  by  many  foot- 
marks. At  the  far  end  twenty  of  the  elder  tribesmen 
were  seated  on  the  ground.  Spears  and  shields  lay  close 
at  their  hands.  As  Cray  appeared  they  looked  up,  utter- 
ing sharp,  angry  noises  from  their  throats;  some  put  out 


94  THE     MAINLAND 

hands  for  their  weapons.  Cray  advanced  to  within  about 
thirty  paces,  holding  his  head  high  and  looking  uncon- 
cernedly at  the  old  men.  Then  to  John's  great  surprise 
he  sat  down,  telling  John  to  do  likewise.  "  They  are  un- 
certain of  us,"  he  said.  "  If  we  walked  any  nearer  now 
they  might  kill  us  out  of  pure  funk.  Pretend  not  to  no- 
tice them  much,  and  sit  quiet." 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  excitement  an  overwhelming 
admiration  for  his  leader  beat  in  John's  heart.  His  ad- 
miration grew  still  greater  as  Cray  talked  on,  apparently 
quite  at  his  ease,  though  excitement  showed  in  the  bril- 
liance of  his  eyes.  For  twenty  minutes  or  so  they  sat, 
talking  to  one  another,  while  the  natives  watched,  some- 
times in  silence,  sometimes  conversing  among  themselves. 
The  men  who  had  taken  up  weapons  put  them  down. 
They  were  puzzled  by  the  two  white  men.  At  last  one 
of  their  number  approached,  making  signs  that  they 
wished  Cray  to  come  nearer.  Cray  rose  and  walked  to 
the  centre  of  the  half-circle  which  they  made;  then  again 
he  sat  down. 

The  men  in  front  of  him  were  mostly  the  leaders  of 
the  tribe.  They  wore  no  clothes  beyond  a  string  of  small 
bones  round  their  waists  and  another  round  their  fore- 
heads. Some  of  the  younger  had  a  pearl  shell  hung 
round  their  necks.  Their  bodies  were  gashed  with  deep 
cuts  on  shoulders  and  abdomen,  and  twisted  in  their 
beards  were  little  balls  of  hard  clay.  They  were  all 
silent  now,  sulky  and  distrustful.  With  a  direct  gaze 
Cray  fixed  his  eyes  upon  one  of  the  elder  men,  who  for 
a  while  remained  silent,  uncomfortable  under  the  un- 
flinching stare,  then  dropping  his  eyes,  barked  out  a 
salutation.     Cray    returned    the    recognition,    and    fixed 


THE    SEABOARD  95 

upon  the  next  man.  In  turn  he  regarded  each  man,  ex- 
acting from  each  a  greeting  as  sign  of  respect.  One  man 
alone  did  not  speak,  though  Cray  continued  to  stare 
angrily  at  him.  At  length,  pointing  to  his  mouth  and 
ears  to  show  that  he  was  deaf  and  dumb,  he  stood  up  in 
sign  of  respect,  so  as  not  to  anger  the  stranger. 

To  the  best  of  his  power,  with  the  few  words  at  his 
command,  Cray  explained  that  he  had  come  from  a  far 
country  for  the  special  purpose  of  speaking  with  these 
people,  that  he  would  now  send  for  his  interpreter  and 
tell  them  of  his  wants.  John  was  sent  back  to  fetch 
Julep  and  Tea-cup.  A  native  boy  went  with  him  to  show 
the  quickest  way  through  the  long  grass. 

Poor  Tea-cup  was  terribly  frightened  at  the  idea  of 
going  ashore,  and  still  more  so  when  John  and  Julep 
hurried  him  along  a  narrow  path  leading  to  the  heart  of 
the  country.  By  the  time  he  reached  Cray  he  was  grey 
with  fear,  but  soon  recovered  a  little  confidence  in  the 
presence  of  a  leader  who  inspired  so  much  respect.  Cray 
now  told  the  natives  that  he  wished  to  be  their  friend, 
and  had  brought  for  them  many  presents.  He  also  said 
that  he  had  great  magical  powers,  more  potent  than  any- 
thing they  possessed.  He  had  magic  sticks  which  he 
carried  in  his  bag,  and  which  would  kill,  if  he  were  so 
minded,  any  one  who  wished  him  evil.  At  this  news  the 
natives  gave  ejaculations  of  wonder,  fidgeting  uncom- 
fortably where  they  sat.  Cray  said  he  would  show  these 
sticks  to  the  old  men,  but  must  first  be  sure  that  no 
women  were  present. 1  They  assured  him  that  they  were 
on  sacred  ground  where  no  women  might  approach.     Cray 

1  In  the  wild  Australian  tribes  women  are  not  allowed  to  see 
any  instruments  pertaining  to  the  higher  forms  of  religion. 


96  THE     MAINLAND 

did  not,  however,  wish  to  appear  easily  satisfied,  but 
rather  to  test  his  power.  He  pointed  to  various  bushes, 
bidding  the  old  men  look  behind  them  and  see  whether 
no  women  were  concealed.  They  went  obedient  to  his 
command,  although  but  a  short  hour  ago  they  held  power 
over  his  life.  When  they  returned  he  showed  the  sticks 
with  much  display  of  sacred  awe.  Wah!  Wah!  Wah! 
Pff !  Pff !  Pff !  gasped  the  natives  in  the  intense  excitement 
of  their  religious  sympathy.  Cray  assured  them  that  his 
magic  would  not  be  used  against  those  who  were  his 
friends,  and  that  his  power  was  only  exercised  against  his 
enemies  and  those  who  had  evil  thoughts.  All  day  he 
stayed  talking  with  the  natives,  questioning  them  singly 
and  making  rapid  strides  in  the  acquisition  of  their  lan- 
guage. He  took  notes  and  made  vocabularies  of  their 
words,  and,  to  amuse  them,  made  drawings  of  the  things 
they  described.  -He  laid  himself  out  to  please,  yet  all  the 
while  made  stronger  his  position  of  authority.  In  the 
afternoon  the  old  men  conducted  him  through  the  bush  to 
their  encampment,  where  the  women  and  younger  men 
were  gathered.  Here  he  divulged  something  of  his  plan 
of  using  their  young  men  as  divers.  In  return  for  their 
services  he  would  extend  his  protection  to  the  tribe,  and 
also  give  presents  of  brightly  coloured  cloth,  tobacco, 
pipes  and  beads.  The  natives  received  the  suggestion 
without  much  enthusiasm;  but  by  assurances  that  all 
would  be  easily  settled  when  work  was  once  started  and  by 
the  distribution  of  other  small  presents  they  were  kept  in 
good  humour.  At  the  same  time  he  made  them  feel  that 
he  was  bestowing  a  privilege  in  allowing  them  to  work 
for  him.  In  the  evening  he  returned  to  the  cutter  well 
satisfied  with  his  progress. 


THE     SEABOARD  97 

The  next  day  Cray  was  early  on  shore  and  before  long 
he  had  a  working  agreement  with  the  leading  tribesmen. 
It  was  conceded  that  twenty  of  the  younger  men  should 
work  for  him  as  divers.  In  return  he  should  promise  to 
use  his  magical  powers  for  the  benefit  of  the  tribe,  should 
help  them  against  their  enemies  in  the  case  of  their  being 
attacked,  and  should  give,  at  his  own  discretion,  presents 
to  the  chiefs  and  to  the  divers. 

When  all  was  arranged  and  friendly  relations  cemented 
with  gifts  from  both  sides,  Cray's  first  concern  was  to 
build  a  good  camp.  Tents  were  brought  up  from  the 
hold  and  pitched  on  the  heights  of  the  promontory 
where  a  breeze  cooled  the  air  and  kept  away  the  mos- 
quitoes. Trees  were  cut  down  and  poles  erected,  on 
which  a  double  fly  was  stretched  to  afford  shelter  from 
the  sun.  The  natives  watched  in  admiration  the  making 
of  so  big  a  camp;  their  respect  was  increased  as  folding- 
tables  and  camp-beds  were  added  to  its  magnificence. 
In  all  there  were  four  tents;  there  was  also  a  big  double- 
fly  twenty-four  feet  square  and  a  small  one  for  cooking 
under,  where  at  night  Tea-cup  could  sleep.  Altogether 
an  imposing  camp  commanding  a  good  view  of  the  long 
bay. 

Their  next  work  was  to  build  heavy  rafts  that  could 
be  anchored  beyond  the  reefs  and  from  which  the  men 
could  work.  Baskets  also  had  to  be  woven  for  shell 
collecting.  A  section  of  the  beach  to  the  southward  was 
put  aside  for  the  sorting  and  examining.  Here  the  fish 
could  be  left  to  open  in  the  sun  where  the  smell  of  their 
decomposing  bodies  would  be  far  from  the  camp. 

Two  weeks  of  hard-worked  preparations  went  by  be- 
fore they  could   start  on  the  main   issue.     Then,  when 


98  THE     MAINLAND 

at  last  the  real  diving  began,  it  was  John's  task  to  show 
the  black  boys  what  shells  to  collect  and  what  to  reject. 
He  was  glad  to  have  this  task  assigned  to  him,  not  envying 
Julep  his  work  on  the  beach  under  the  hot  sun  amidst 
the  reek  of  decomposing  fish. 

vn 

During  the  inception  of  the  new  industry  Cray  worked 
with  indefatigable  energy.  On  his  initiative  the  success 
of  the  whole  scheme  depended.  The  natives  had  to  be 
kept  in  good  order  and  cheerful  while  the  various  branches 
of  the  trade  were  organized.  First,  there  was  the  diving 
work  from  the  rafts,  the  selection  and  discarding  of  shells, 
then  the  transport  to  the  beach,  the  opening  and  clean- 
ing and  the  search  for  pearls.  For  pearls  of  the  right 
size  and  quality  he  offered  special  rewards  of  coloured 
cloth,  or  triangles  of  looking-glass,  so  that  the  natives 
should  be  keen  in  their  search. 

After  the  first  day,  when  a  definite  routine  was  estab- 
lished, the  white  men  were  able  to  relax  their  energies 
and  look  with  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  on  the  orderly  prog- 
ress of  the  industry.  Soon  one  or  other  of  them  was 
able  to  take  times  off  in  which  to  explore  the  size  and 
resources  of  the  island.  Cray  made  a  rough  map,  naming, 
for  his  own  satisfaction,  some  principal  features.  On 
these  expeditions  they  at  first  took  natives  as  guides,  but 
before  long  the  country  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  camp 
became  so  familiar  that  John  and  Julep  could  go  out 
with  their  guns  in  search  of  wallabies  with  no  danger 
of  being  lost  among  the  high  grass.  John  found  his  way 
over  to  the  western   side,   where  there  were  high   cliffs 


THE     SEABOARD  99 

with  dead  coral  at  their  base,  reminding  him  of  Kanna 
Island.  Here  he  would  hunt  for  eggs  of  the  sea-birds, 
and  sometimes  shoot  the  black  oyster-catchers  that  flew 
piping  from  rock  to  rock.  On  his  return  to  camp  he 
would  have  to  cross  the  deeply  wooded  hills  of  the  cen- 
tral ridge  and  drop  down  to  the  broken  country  of  the 
foot-hills,  where  the  trees  grew  more  sparsely,  forming 
clump  and  groups,  as  in  a  park,  amidst  luxuriant  grass 
and  flowering  herbs.  It  was  in  this  region  that  one  day 
to  his  great  surprise  he  saw  Mrs.  Cray  seated  under  some 
dark-leaved  fig-trees,  which  grew  on  the  summit  of  a 
small  prominence.  Never  before  had  he  seen  her  so 
far  from  the  camp,  and  although  he  knew  that  she  often 
walked  by  herself  he  was  rather  shocked  to  think  of  her 
being  exposed  and  solitary  among  savages.  He  stood 
for  a  while  watching  her.  She  was  reading  a  book,  and 
was  intent  on  her  occupation.  John  had  felt  very  curious 
about  books,  though  he  had  spoken  little  of  them,  not 
liking  to  display  his  ignorance.  Especially  with  Mrs. 
Cray  had  he  preferred  to  speak  of  the  things  that  he 
understood.  He  wondered  how  it  was  that  she  could 
spend  so  much  time  looking  at  white  pages.  He  would 
like  to  know  what  interest  she  found  there,  and  although 
he  was  shy  of  approaching  her  without  an  invitation, 
having  a  natural  instinct  against  disturbing  her  solitude, 
he  now  pushed  his  way  through  the  long  grass.  Mrs. 
Cray  did  not  see  him  till  he  was  quite  near  to  her.  When 
she  looked  up  there  was  a  pleased  look  of  welcome  making 
him  feel  glad  of  the  happy  chance  of  finding  her  alone. 

"I  didn't  expect  you  out  here  so  far  from  the  camp," 
he  said.     "  We  don't  know  all  the  natives  on  the  island 


ioo  THE     MAINLAND 

yet.  I  wouldn't  trust  them  too  much.  You  know  there 
are  others  that  come  in  boats  that  we  haven't  seen  any- 
thing of." 

Mrs.  Cray  smiled  at  the  prudence  of  the  protecting 
male  in  him.  "  Natives  are  never  hurtful  if  you  treat 
them  right.  It's  all  a  matter  of  attitude.  They  know 
when  one  is  afraid  and  distrustful,  and  that  makes  them 
show  the  same  feelings." 

This  answer  seemed  so  right  that  John  could  say  no 
no  more  on  that  head.  "  But  then  there  are  snakes,"  he 
objected. 

"Oh,  come!"  Mrs.  Cray  laughed  at  him.  "There 
are  just  as  many  snakes  near  the  camp  as  there  are  here. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  restricted  just  because  of  snakes. 
You  yourself  told  me  that  most  of  them  are  harmless." 

John  gave  it  up,  feeling  that  the  protecting  male  at- 
titude was  somehow  no  good.  "  You've  found  a  very 
nice  place,"  he  said,  "  and  it  certainly  looks  safe  and 
comfortable.  These  fig-trees  give  the  best  shade.  It's 
really  cool  under  them." 

"  Yes,  and  there  is  a  breeze  too  from  the  sea.  Look 
between  those  boughs;  you  can  see  blue  water." 

He  sat  down  with  his  back  to  one  of  the  black  trunks. 
"  There  are  no  flies  here  in  the  shade,"  he  said  with 
relief.  "  They  are  just  awful  in  the  long  grass."  Then 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "  Do  you  sit  here  long  looking 
at  that  book?  What  is  in  it?  What  is  in  books?  "  He 
felt  antagonism  against  things  that  seemed  so  absorbing, 
but  which  were  closed  to  him. 

Mrs.  Cray  answered  quite  seriously,  trying  to  speak 
adequately  and  lead  in  the  best  way  his  unaccustomed 
mind.     "  The  thoughts  and  feelings  that  men  have  wished 


THE     SEABOARD  101 

to  give  to  other  men  are  recorded  in  books.  Things  that 
they  thought  were  interesting  and  beautiful  and  that 
they  wished  other  men  to  share." 

"  Will  you  read  me  some?  "  said  John  rather  shyly. 

"  The  man  who  wrote  this  book  wrote  about  Europe. 
It  is  strange  to  read  him  here  because  his  book  takes  me 
into  another  life.  Europe  is  so  different.  It  is  cooler 
and  older  and  much  more  sad  than  anything  here." 

"  Do  read  me  some." 

Mrs.  Cray  turned  the  pages  for  a  few  moments,  then  she 
read  very  slowly  and  in  an  even  tone: 

"  And,  like  a  dying  lady  lean  and  pale, 
Who  totters  forth,  wrapped  in  a  gauzy  veil, 

Out  of  her  chamber,  led  by  the  insane 
And  feeble  wanderings  of  her  fading  brain, 

The  moon  arose  up  in  the  murky  East, 
A  white  and  shapeless  mass " 

For  a  while  the  young  man  was  silent.  The  sound 
charmed  him,  and  his  thoughts  were  occupied  with  com- 
paring pictures  of  the  veil-wrapped  lady  and  the  full 
moon  rising  in  mist.  "  That  must  have  been  after  the 
rains,"  he  said.     "  It's  not  often  like  that." 

"  Not  here,  but  in  England,  where  there  is  much  rain 
even  in  summer  —  yes." 

"  Read  me  some  more,"  he  demanded. 

She  hesitated.     "About  what  shall  I  read?" 

John  was  lying  now  on  the  ground  propped  on  his 
elbows.  He  looked  up  at  her  pale  face.  In  her  eyes  he 
saw  the  light  of  his  awakened  feeling.  Her  features  were 
passive  through  the  habit  of  long-accustomed  restraint, 
but  the  curves  of  her  rather  large  mouth  were  evidence 


102  THE    MAINLAND 

of  a  strong  spirit.     "  Read  about  the  time  before  sun- 
rise," he  said. 

Again  she  turned  the  pages.     "  No.     This  is  about  the 
night.     Listen." 

"  Swiftly   walk   over  the   western   wave, 

Spirit   of   Night! 
Out  of  the  misty  eastern  cave, — 
Where  all  the  long  and  lone  daylight 
Thou  wovest  dreams  of  joy  and  fear, 
Which  make  thee  terrible  and  dear  — 

Swift  be  thy  flight! 

Wrap  thy  form  in  a  mantle  grey 

Star-inwrought ! 
Blind  with  thine  hair  the  eyes  of  day; 
Kiss  her  until  she  be  wearied  out, 
Then  wander  o'er  city,  and  sea,  and  land, 
Touching  all  with  thine  opiate  wand  — 

Come,  long-sought! 

When  I  arose  and  saw  the  dawn 

I  sighed  for  thee; 
When  light  rose  high,  and  the  dew  was  gone 
And  noon  lay  heavy  on  flower  and  tree, 
And  the  weary  Day  turned  to  his  rest, 
Lingering  like  an  unloved  guest, 

I  sighed  for  thee. 

Thy  brother  Death  came,  and  cried, 

'Would'st   thou   me?' 
Thy  sweet  child  Sleep,  the  filmy-eyed, 
Murmured  like  a  noontide  bee, 
'  Shall  I  nestle  near  thy  side  ? 
Would'st  thou  me?' — And  I  replied, 
'No,  not  thee.' 

Death  will  come  when  thou  art  dead, 
Soon,  too  soon  — 


THE     SEABOARD  103 

Sleep  will  come  when  thou  art  fled; 
Of  neither  would  I  ask  the  boon 
I  ask  of  thee,  beloved  Night  — 
Swift  be  thine  approaching  flight, 
Come,  soon,  soon." 

For  a  long  while  after  she  had  finished  he  said  nothing. 
The  first  wealth  of  his  awakened  feeling  would  be  ex- 
pressed only  in  silence.  At  length  he  said,  "  The  night 
here  is  like  that.  It  must  be  the  same  everywhere.  Will 
you  read  it  again,  please?  " 

She  read  now  even  more  slowly  than  at  first,  letting  the 
value  of  each  line  express  itself  in  the  cadence. 

"  There  are  some  parts  that  I  don't  understand,  just 
as  there  is  something  in  the  night.  I  like  the  sound. 
Will  you  read  me  some  more? "  Then  impetuously, 
"  Will  you  teach  me  to  read?  " 

Touched  by  his  wonder  and  his  glow  of  enthusiasm 
she  felt  in  herself  and  her  own  power  of  appreciation  the 
beauty  of  Shelley's  perception.  She  once  more  turned  the 
pages,  this  time  in  eager  search.  "  You  will  not  under- 
stand altogether,  but  later  I  will  tell  you.  This  is  about 
the  spirit  of  life  and  all  that  makes  things  grow  and 
reproduce  and  die  and  hope.     It  is  that  spirit  speaking: 

"  From  the  forests  and  highlands 

We  come,  we  come; 
From  the  river-girt  islands, 

Where  loud  waves  are  dumb. 
Listening  to  my  sweet  pipings, 
The  wind  in  the  reeds  and  the  rushes 

The  bees  on  the  bells  of  thyme, 
The  birds  on  the  myrtle  bushes, 

The  cicale  alone  in  the  lime, 
And  the  lizards  below  in  the  grass, 


104  THE    MAINLAND 

Were  as  silent  as  ever  old  Tmolus  was, 
Listening  to  my  sweet  pipings 

Liquid  Peneus  was  flowing 
And  all  dark  Tempe  lay 
In  Pelion's  shadow,  out-growing 
The  light  of  the  dying  day, 
Speeded  by  my  sweet  pipings. 
The  Sileni  and  Sylvans  and  Fauns, 

And  the  Nymphs  of  the  woods  and  waves, 
To  the  edge  of  the  moist  river-lawns, 
And  the  brink  of  the  dewy  caves, 
And  all  that  did  then  attend  and  follow, 
Were  silent  with  love,  as  you  now,  Apollo, 
With  envy  of  my  sweet  pipings. 

I  sang  of  the  dancing  stars, 

I  sang  of  the  daedal  Earth 
And  of  Heaven,   and   the   Giant   wars 

And  of  Love,  and  Death,  and  Birth, — 
And  then  I  changed  my  pipings  — 
Singing  how  down  the  vale  of  Maenalus 

I  pursued  a  maiden  and  clasped  a  reed. 

Gods  and  men  we  are  all  deluded  thus! 

It  breaks  in  our  bosom  and  then  we  bleed: 
All  wept  —  as  I  think  both  ye  now  would, 
If  envy  or  rage  had  not  frozen  your  blood  — 
At  the  sorrow  of  my  sweet  pipings. 

John  lay  still,  looking  dimly  at  the  distance  of  the  hills 
from  under  the  heavy  branches.  There  being  no  envy 
or  rage  in  his  blood,  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 
Much  there  was  that  he  had  not  understood,  but  the 
break  in  the  rhythm  and  the  passionate  sadness  of  the 
words  had  filled  his  heart  with  new  happiness  and  sorrow. 
A  mystery  that  lay  in  sounds  had  been  unfolded.  Music 
and  melody,  half  touched  by  meaning,  yet  complete  in 


THE     SEABOARD  105 

themselves,  flowed  past  like  a  river.  All  his  senses  un- 
knowing, willing,  yet  half  fearful,  were  committed  to 
the  stream  of  smooth  deep  waters.  But,  while  his  senses 
flowed  with  the  music  his  spirit  was  full  of  dread,  and 
could  have  cried  out  in  pain  had  a  hand  been  raised  in 
negation  against  the  passionate  incompleteness  of  his  de- 
sire. Away  in  the  far  distance  were  the  fruits  of  life, 
but  as  he  contemplated  all  that  was  remote  for  him  the 
perspectives  changed  so  that  grey,  unformed  hopes  be- 
came translucent  with  the  bright  colours  of  life.  From 
out  his  first  dreamy  mood  there  grew  a  vivid  conscious- 
ness of  his  companion,  together  with  a  passionate  grati- 
tude for  all  the  wealth  of  new  horizons  that  she  had 
lifted.  He  turned  to  look  at  her.  At  that  moment  all 
the  emotions  so  newly  springing  from  earth,  touched  into 
flowers  and  strong  plants,  by  the  pipes  of  Pan,  all  hopes 
and  aspirations  gathered  from  forests,  rivers  and  sea 
turned  into  a  deep  channel  of  adoration  for  the  woman 
whose  eyes  met  his  own. 

A  half-conscious  fear,  that  by  her  look  she  might  deny 
hopes  that  were  not  yet  formed,  made  him  speak.  "  Will 
you  read  again,  telling  me  the  meaning  where  I  don't 
understand?  " 

She  told  him  then  some  of  the  stories  of  mythology, 
of  Pan  and  of  Apollo,  of  Dryads  and  Nymphs,  spirits  of 
woods  and  waves,  of  gods  and  lesser  gods  who  peopled 
nature,  breathing  into  all  things  the  spirit  of  man.  These 
stories,  which  like  reflections  on  still  water  represent  in 
colour  and  outline  the  life  of  senses  growing  in  the  sultry 
air,  seemed  to  the  young  man  to  share  with  her  the  in- 
tellectual quality  that  held  her  distant  and  aloof.  In  all 
things  she  was  his  teacher;  he  feared  the  hard  edge  of 


106  THE    MAINLAND 

her  intelligence,  and,  though  he  worshipped  her,  felt  that 
he  must  hide  his  worship. 

For  a  long  while  they  sat  talking  under  the  shade  of 
the  heavy  leaves.  As  yet  John  had  but  a  glimpse  of  the 
wide  horizon  that  she  had  spread  before  him.  Eager  for 
knowledge,  he  plied  her  with  questions,  waiting  breath- 
less and  worshipful  upon  her  answers.  Not  till  the  sun 
was  sinking  toward  the  sea's  edge  did  they  start  back  for 
camp.  Then  it  was  John's  turn  to  take  command,  for 
they  suddenly  realized  that  they  must  quickly  make  their 
way  through  the  high  grass  if  they  were  not  to  be  over- 
taken by  the  swift-falling  darkness. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE   WIDE    HORIZON 


TWO  months  passed,  while  the  pearling  indus- 
try developed.  John  and  his  divers  worked 
regularly  in  the  shallow  waters.  Pearls  were 
found  of  various  size  and  value;  those  that  were  worth 
keeping  were  taken  to  the  small  safe  on  The  Venture  and 
the  better  quality  shells  were  stowed  in  the  hold.  Now 
that  a  regular  routine  was  established,  Cray  developed  a 
great  interest  in  the  natives,  devoting  his  spare  time  to  the 
study  of  their  social  organizations  and  customs.  His  eve- 
nings were  all  spent  sitting  with  the  elders  of  the  tribe,  re- 
cording long  genealogies  and  taking  notes.  This  work 
removed  him  from  the  more  immediate  interests  of  the 
camp,  and  even  at  meal-times,  when  he  was  not  telling  of 
his  latest  research,  he  would  sometimes  sit  in  silence  with 
a  faraway  look,  gazing  into  abstraction,  oblivious  of  the 
conversation  of  the  others.  Out  of  these  reveries  he  would 
come  suddenly  back  when  anything  had  to  be  decided, 
and  in  his  incisive  manner  would  discuss  and  settle  all 
doubtful  issues.  He  was  amused  and  rather  pleased 
when  he  heard  that  his  wife  had  undertaken  to  teach 
John  to  read,  thinking  it  an  admirable  way  of  giving  them 
both  an  interest.  Once  or  twice  he  offered  to  read  with 
them,  but  John's  slow,  uncertain  pace  was  exasperating, 

107 


^N 


108  THE     MAINLAND 

and  his  quick  mind  eagerly  returned  to  the  fascinating 
combinations  of  native  sociology. 

Julep  was  much  amused.  His  attitude  of  knowing 
wisdom  and  soft  insinuation  made  John  angry.  But  he 
himself  soon  found  diversion  to  his  taste.  Before  he  had 
been  ten  days  on  the  island  he  had  smilingly  announced 
to  Cray  that  he  had  taken  two  ugly  little  devils  of  girls 
under  his  protection,  that  he  had  made  a  temporary  mar- 
riage and  paid  their  respective  fathers  in  presents  of  to- 
bacco, etc.  Cray  was  at  first  rather  annoyed,  fearing 
that  there  might  be  jealousy,  and  that  disturbances  would 
arise,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  found  that  the  natives  were 
pleased  and  flattered  he  had  deprecatingly  allowed  Julep 
to  go  his  own  way,  though  he  had  strictly  forbidden  any 
native  to  be  brought  to  the  camp.  Julep  had  stayed 
for  a  few  days,  then  he  had  moved  his  tent  to  the  neck 
of  the  promontory.  There,  with  his  two  wives,  he  started 
a  polygamous  though  very  primitive  establishment. 
Since  his  duties  kept  him  much  in  the  camp,  and  since 
he  had  not  lost  his  taste  for  civilized  food,  he  partook  of 
the  meals  that  he  and  John  prepared,  leaving  his  Bertha 
and  Jenny,  as  he  called  them,  to  arrange  for  themselves 
their  favourite  repast  of  lightly  warmed  entrails. 

When  Julep  first  went  to  live  with  his  black  wives 
he  had  suggested  to  John  that  he  should  come  with  him, 
and  should  take  a  girl  from  the  tribe.  John,  although  he 
had  refused,  had  let  Julep  enlarge  on  the  benefits  of  a 
married  life.  This  chaffing  talk  had  created  a  definite 
temptation,  and  although  with  his  picture  of  Mrs.  Cray's 
high  idealism  he  could  refuse  so  sordid  a  suggestion,  there 
was  in  his  mind  an  envious  resentment  against  the  more 
easily  satisfied  appetite  of  the  elder  man.     A  few  days 


THE     WIDE     HORIZON  109 

later  he  mentioned  Julep  and  his  wives  to  Mrs.  Cray, 
asking  for  her  judgment.  She  seemed  for  a  moment  un- 
willing to  speak,  but  said,  half  contemptuously  and  half 
in  excuse,  that  for  Julep  such  actions  were  so  much  in 
his  character  that  they  were  inevitable,  and  that  were  he 
different  he  would  not  be  so  pleasant  and  simple  a  per- 
son as  he  was.  This  answer  seemed  entirely  adequate. 
What  she  said  about  Julep  was  true,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  gave  John  the  pleasant  assurance  that  she  placed  him 
in  a  different  category,  not  thinking  it  possible  for  him 
to  follow  so  crude  an  example. 

n 

One  day  when  work  had  been  in  progress  for  more 
than  eight  weeks  the  advent  of  new  arrivals  caused  a 
great  excitement  in  the  island.  At  the  time  a  load  of 
shell  was  being  stowed  under  Julep's  direction.  The 
large  shining  surfaces  of  the  pearl  shells  were  laid  out  on 
the  deck  of  the  cutter  and  those  of  inferior  quality  were 
being  thrown  back  into  the  sea.  To  throw  away  shells 
is  an  extravagance  unusual  with  pearlers,  but  where  there 
was  so  limited  a  storage  space  they  could  only  afford  to 
keep  the  best  specimens.  Work  was  progressing  quietly 
when  suddenly  a  shout  sounded  from  the  hills  and  natives 
came  running  down  from  their  camp  shouting  out  that 
a  large  canoe  was  approaching  from  the  northward,  that 
there  was  a  white  man  in  it  with  a  rifle,  besides  several 
black-fellows  who  were  paddling  swiftly  shoreward. 

Cray,  who  thought  that  the  stranger  might  be  the 
first  of  a  raiding  party,  hurried  to  The  Venture,  taking 
John  with  him.  They  stood  by  their  fire-arms  waiting 
emergencies.     In  the  meanwhile  natives   ran   along  the 


no  THE    MAINLAND 

crest  of  the  promontory  shouting  out  in  great  excitement 
the  direction  taken  by  the  stranger.  When  at  length  a 
long  black  canoe  rounded  the  point  the  island  to  its 
most  inland  camps  was  stirred  and  all  eyes  were  directed 
seaward. 

The  canoe  was  longer  than  anything  that  Cray  had 
seen  in  the  North-West.  It  was  manned  by  four  natives 
with  broad  paddles.  In  the  stern  sat  a  white  man  with 
a  rifle  leaned  against  his  knee.  He  held  the  big  steering 
paddle  in  his  hands.  Close  in  front  of  him  was  a  very 
fair  young  half-caste  girl,  and  forward  in  the  bows  were 
two  other  women  crouched  down  in  the  hollow  of  the 
boat.  On  seeing  The  Venture  the  strange  craft  headed 
straight  towards  her,  approaching  to  within  about  fifty 
yards  without  a  hail.  Then  the  white  man  at  the  stern 
gave  the  order  to  easy  with  the  paddles. 

They  could  see  now  that  he  was  a  tight-built,  wiry 
fellow  of  middle  age.  His  clothes  were  very  ragged  and 
patched,  and  he  wore  an  obviously  home-made  rush  hat. 
His  face  was  not  prepossessing,  there  being  an  unsteady 
look  in  his  grey  eyes.  His  nose  twisted  slightly  to  the 
side  of  his  face,  and  his  rather  small  mouth  followed  its 
direction.  "  A  good  morning's  business,"  he  said  in  the 
most  everyday  sort  of  tone  that  betrayed  a  slight  American 
twang,  and  had  in  it  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

Cray  ignored  the  remark.  "  Where  do  you  hail  from?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Put  your  mind  at  ease,"  the  other  returned.  "  Not 
from  Broom  or  any  other  of  them  God-damned,  fiddling 
little  one-horse  ports.  There's  an  island  some  sixty  miles 
north.     That's  where  I  live.     For  three  years  I've  been 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  in 

done  with  civilization  .  .  .  taken  to  the  simple  life. 
See!  "  As  Cray  made  no  comment  he  went  on  with  a 
swaggering  easiness,  "  Word  came  up  —  it's  all  round  the 
islands  for  a  hundred  miles  —  that  white  men  that  knew 
native  talk  (dead  black-fellows,  some  of  them  said,  come 
back)  were  on  this  island  after  pearl  shell.  I  haven't 
spoken  to  a  white  man  for  three  years,  so  I've  come  to 
pay  you  a  visit.  See!  "  He  paused  for  a  moment,  re- 
garding the  shining  shells  on  the  deck.  "  Pretty  good 
trade  I  should  think  here  too.  I  congratulate  you  on 
stealing  a  march  on  the  lousy  swine  at  Broom.  I  reckon 
there'd  be  the  devil  to  pay  if  they  knew  your  little  game." 

Cray  saw  that  the  fellow  was  out  to  score  at  every 
point  that  he  could,  and  that  he  would  have  to  hold  him 
in  hand.     By  this  time  the  boats  were  close  alongside. 

"  Will  you  come  on  board  and  have  a  drink?  "  he  said 
quietly. 

The  other  hesitated.     "  What  about  my  boat?  " 

"  That  will  be  all  right.  I'll  send  it  ashore  when  my 
people  will  see  to  your  men." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  trust  a  lot  of  black  men  ? 
You've  only  been  here  a  couple  of  months.  They'll 
fight  each  other  like  cats." 

"  They'll  do  as  I  tell  them.  Your  fellows  won't  be 
hurt.  John,  you  take  the  boat  ashore,  and  see  that  the 
men  are  given  food  and  drink." 

The  stranger  seemed  to  be  thrown  a  little  off  his  balance 
by  Cray's  authority.  After  a  short  pause  of  indecision  — 
"Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do,"  he  said,  "and  what's 
your  name  if  I  may  ask?  "  Cray  gave  his  name  and 
those  of  John  and  Julep.     "  My  name's  Peter  Trigg," 


112  THE     MAINLAND 

said  the  other  as  he  stepped  on  board  The  Venture. 
"  How  I  got  to  these  parts  I'll  tell  you  when  I've  had  a 
wet." 

As  he  stepped  out  of  his  boat  the  half-caste  girl  called 
to  him,  asking  some  question.  He  turned  and  spoke 
fluently  to  her  in  native,  and  the  look  of  perplexity  slowly 
went  out  of  her  face. 

"  She's  frightened,"  he  explained,  "  but  she'd  better 
go  with  them;  they  are  more  afraid  of  her  tongue  than 
of  mine." 

John  was  about  to  take  Trigg's  place  as  Cray  had 
directed  when  Julep  stepped  forward.  "  All  right,  John, 
I'll  take  them  back,"  he  said.  "  You  stay  here.  I'll  see 
that  they  are  fixed  up." 

John  yielded  his  position,  amused  at  Julep's  eagerness 
to  go  with  the  half-caste  girl,  who  was  young,  well- 
formed,  and  not  unpleasing  in  appearance. 

When  Julep  and  the  canoe-load  of  blacks  had  set  off 
for  the  shore  John  brought  drinks.  Cray  and  Trigg  sat 
together  on  the  poop  of  The  Venture. 

"  It's  a  pretty  cutter  you've  got  here,"  began  Trigg, 
taking  a  more  conciliatory  tone  than  at  first. 

"  Yes,  she's  a  good  sailer  and  can  outstrip  most  ships 
I've  sailed  on.  She  can  leave  behind  anything  on  this 
coast." 

Triggs  put  out  his  hand  for  the  tobacco  that  Cray 
offered.  "  I  tell  you  it's  a  pleasure  to  speak  with  a  white 
man  again,"  he  said.  "  I've  been  alone  up  here  for  three 
years  with  no  one  but  blacks  to  speak  to." 

"  How  was  it  you  got  stranded  here?  " 

"  I  was  shipwrecked  off  a  barque  trading  between 
Singapore  and  Kaimera.     I  was  second  mate,   and  the 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  113 

only  survivor.  We  were  caught  in  a  Willy-Willy  and 
driven  ashore." 

"  Have  you  been  living  with  natives  ever  since?  " 

"  Yes,  I  taught  them  to  cook  for  me,  and  taught  them 
to  build  a  decent  sized  canoe  to  get  about  a  bit." 

"  Have  you  seen  no  white  men?  " 

"  Not  one." 

"That  girl  you  have  with  you  —  who's  she?  " 

"  She's  my  wife  —  or  one  of  them,"  he  added  with  a 
leer.     "  Out  here  one  takes  what  one  can  get." 

"  But  how  did  a  half-caste  get  here  if  there  are  no 
white  men?  " 

Trigg  seemed  embarrassed.  "  Damn  it,  I  don't  know," 
he  said,  irritated. 

Cray  did  not  press  the  point,  but  after  a  short  silence 
asked  abruptly,  "  What  is  it  you  want  of  me?  " 

"If  you'd  been  alone  up  here  for  three  years  you'd 
go  some  little  way  for  company  I  expect,"  said  Trigg 
with  a  note  of  defiance.  Since  Cray  made  no  response 
to  this  protest  he  went  on.  "  But  to  tell  the  truth  I've 
come  to  ask  a  favour.  I've  had  enough  of  the  simple  life. 
Will  you  give  me  a  passage  back  when  you  go?  Take  me 
to  Kaimera  and  I'll  be  more  than  grateful.  I  can't  pay 
my  passage  —  I've  no  money,  but  I'll  work.  You'll  find 
I'm  a  good  worker.  I  know  how  to  knock  these  niggers 
about  and  make  them  move  quick." 

Cray  poured  out  a  second  glass  for  his  guest,  and  his 
manner  became  more  genial.  "  Yes,  I'll  take  you  as  far 
as  Kaimera  willingly,  but  since  I  manage  my  own  natives 
I  shall  not  want  your  services.  Since  you  are  staying  on 
with  us  till  we  sail,  you'll  camp  on  the  island.  You'll 
want  your  women  with  you,  I  suppose?  "     Trigg  nodded. 


n4  THE    MAINLAND 

"  Then  you  had  better  make  your  camp  near  Julep's.  I 
allow  no  natives  in  my  camp.  John  will  take  you  across 
in  the  dinghy.  I  expect  you'd  like  to  get  fixed  up 
pretty  soon."  He  turned  now  to  John.  "  As  for  the 
men,  put  them  down  on  the  flats  the  other  side  of  the 
long  grass.  Speak  to  Puramatta  and  Mindolo.  Make 
them  responsible." 

"  I'll  have  my  men  with  me,"  broke  in  Trigg. 

"  They  will  be  where  I  choose  to  put  them,"  said  Cray. 
"  That  is  if  you  want  to  stay  here  and  come  back  with 
me  to  Kaimera.  I  don't  have  strange  natives  sleeping 
near  the  camp." 

Trigg  made  no  further  remark  but  smiled  ambiguously 
as  he  got  into  the  dinghy  to  be  pulled  ashore. 

When  John  returned,  Cray,  who  had  in  the  meanwhile 
finished  superintending  the  storing  of  the  shells,  called 
him  up  to  the  poop;  told  him  to  take  one  of  the  camp- 
chairs.  He  then  asked,  "  What  do  you  think  of  our  new 
friend?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  John.  "  He  told  me  all  about 
his  shipwreck." 

"  That's  all  a  lie  I'm  convinced,"  said  Cray  in  a  musing 
tone.  "  Though  how  he  came  to  be  here  I  don't  know. 
That  man  was  never  a  sailor,  at  least  not  a  second  mate." 

"  What  is  he,  do  you  think?  "  asked  John. 

"  Just  a  typical  beach-comber;  there  are  hundreds  of 
them  up  and  down  this  coast,  but  one  doesn't  usually 
find  them  so  far  away.  He's  the  sort  of  rascal  I  couldn't 
trust;  probably  a  thief.  His  whole  story  is  a  make  up. 
With  that  boat  he's  built  he  could  get  down  to  Broom 
in  a  couple  of  months  by  hugging  the  coast  if  he  wanted 
to.     He's  on  the  look  out  for  pickings,  but  probably  a 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  115 

fool,  like  most  knaves,  and  harmless.  But  you  had  just 
as  well  keep  your  eye  on  him  while  he's  here.  While  he's 
with  us  he's  all  right,  but  if  he  did  happen  to  slip  away 
and  fall  in  with  a  Broom  lugger  I  should  have  to  start 
rather  sooner  than  I  intended." 

"What  do  you  think  he  wants?"  asked  John,  per- 
plexed. 

"  He's  out  for  gain  —  anything  he  can  pick  up.  He'll 
take  anything  I  choose  to  give  him,  and  if  by  betraying 
us  he  could  get  anything  from  the  Broom  people,  then 
he'd  do  it.     He's  a  scallywag." 

John,  who  had  never  yet  met  with  any  double-dealing, 
found  it  difficult  to  believe  that  a  man  should  appear 
with  an  elaborate  lie  worked  out  in  detail,  and  was  in- 
clined to  discuss  and  even  argue  the  point.  Cray,  how- 
ever, said  little  more,  but  took  the  precaution  of  conceal- 
ing the  small  safe  in  which  he  had  already  more  than 
five  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  pearls. 

m 

After  his  first  remonstrance  concerning  his  men's  quar- 
ters Trigg  appeared  quietly  to  acquiesce  in  the  order  that 
Cray  established.  His  camp,  where  he  lived  with  Bella, 
the  half-caste  girl,  and  another  of  his  women,  was  pitched 
close  to  Julep's,  near  the  neck  of  the  promontory.  His 
manner  toward  Cray  was  that  of  a  man  anxious  to  please, 
full  of  respect,  though  rather  avoiding  company,  taking 
his  meals  at  his  own  camp.  With  Julep  he  came  a  good 
deal  into  contact,  making  every  effort  to  establish  friendly 
relations.  In  the  evenings  he  asked  him  over  to  his  own 
camp,  where  they  smoked  and  drank  together.  On  these 
occasions  he  was  quick  to  see  Julep's  interest  in  Bella. 


n6  THE    MAINLAND 

Often  he  would  leave  them  alone,  telling  the  girl  to  enter- 
tain his  guest  in  his  absence. 

Bella  could  talk  English  fluently,  for,  a  year  ago,  she 
had  run  away  from  the  Catholic  mission  at  Cape  Lon- 
donderry with  Peter  Trigg,  who  was  at  one  time  a  monk 
of  that  institution.  Tiring  of  the  monastic  life,  and 
being  attracted  by  the  light-skinned,  voluptuous  girl,  he 
had  persuaded  her  to  run  off.  Subsequently  she  had  been 
of  great  service  in  helping  with  the  natives.  Anything 
that  he  wished  she  was  willing  to  do,  provided  always 
that  he  promised  to  stay  with  her.  Now  at  Trigg's  re- 
quest she  did  what  she  could  to  please  Julep  to  the  best 
of  her  primitive  ability. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  Julep  became  thoroughly 
pleased  with  the  companionship  of  his  new  friends. 
Trigg  could  talk  well,  telling  amusing  stories  of  past 
experiences.  Julep  found  that  he  had  more  in  common 
with  him  than  with  Cray's  rather  remote  and  superior 
intelligence  or  with  John's  ingenuous  ignorance.  Trigg 
on  his  side  gathered  much  information  from  these  con- 
versations. He  learnt  what  was  the  approximate  value 
of  the  pearls  already  collected,  also  the  share  that  Julep 
was  to  have  in  the  total  takings.  He  gave  the  opinion 
that  a  tenth  was  too  small  a  proportion  for  the  impor- 
tance of  Julep's  work,  hinting  that  it  was  pretty  cool  for 
Cray  to  take  nine-tenths  with  his  by-your-leave,  superior 
manner. 

In  the  day-times  Trigg  found  himself  at  a  loose  end; 
and  since  Cray  would  not  allow  him  to  have  any  dealings 
with  the  natives,  he  often  spent  his  time  watching  Julep 
at  the  work  of  searching  for  pearls  among  the  shells  and 
flesh  of  the  dead  molluscs. 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  117 

One  day  of  exceptional  good  luck  Julep  found  two 
pearls  of  high  quality.  Trigg  inspected  them  with  greedy 
eyes.  "  Well,  you're  a  lucky  man  to  get  a  tenth  of  their 
value,  but  a  damned  fool  to  my  thinking  not  to  put  them 
in  your  pocket  and  say  nothing  about  them." 

Julep,  choosing  to  take  this  remark  in  jest,  laughed  and 
said  nothing. 

Trigg  continued  in  a  whining  argumentative  voice. 
"Why  should  he  have  all  the  swag?  You  say  he's  got 
between  ten  and  twenty  thousand  pounds'  worth.  That's 
enough  to  buy  his  boat  and  outfit  and  cover  his  own  fair 
share.  You  take  as  much  risk  as  he  does.  Any  man  but 
a  natural  would  take  his  pickings  now  and  then.  Why, 
he  expects  it." 

"  Shut  your  mouth!  "  said  Julep  roused. 

"Oh  well!  it's  none  of  my  business,"  rejoined  Trigg 
laughing,  "  but  one  can  see  you  haven't  been  out  here 
for  long.  Out  here,  we've  left  law  and  useless  convention 
behind.  A  man  here  takes  his  own  price  and  his  own 
value.  That  is,  if  he  knows  it;  and  if  you  ask  me  our 
superior  friend  is  not  ten  times  better  than  other  men, 
though  no  doubt  he  thinks  he  is." 

Julep  did  not  answer,  but  continued  his  work.  He 
did  not  altogether  resent  Trigg's  talk;  there  was  some 
truth,  he  felt,  in  that  ten  times  argument,  but  was  not 
going  to  encourage  it.  After  a  little  while  he  came  on 
another  pearl,  this  time  better  than  any  of  the  others. 
"Look  at  that!"  he  exclaimed  in  excitement,  "it's  the 
best  we've  found  ever  since  we've  been  here."  He  dis- 
played the  shining  sphere  on  his  palm,  then  held  it  to 
the  light.  Trigg  looked  on,  critical  and  excited.  "  Worth 
a  thousand,"  he  said.     "  Why,   it's  a  perfect  wonder." 


n8  THE     MAINLAND 

Then  ironically,  "  Say  good-bye  to  it,  put  it  in  the  bag 
with  the  rest."  He  watched  Julep,  his  sneer  being  rem- 
iniscent of  the  snarl  of  an  exasperated  animal.  Then 
suddenly  his  feeling  burst  free  beyond  control.  "  Some 
snipes  have  all  the  bloody  luck!  To  think  of  that  God- 
damn-gentlemanly young  wouser  carrying  off  the  pick 
of  the  beach  like  that  —  why  it  makes  me  cry  to  say 
good-bye  to  a  stone  of  that  quality.  Here,  let  me  have 
a  look."  He  bent  down  and  began  turning  over  the  shells 
in  wild  excitement. 

"  You  leave  those  shells  alone,"  called  Julep,  "  you've 
no  part  in  this  show." 

Trigg  jumped  up  with  his  hands  clenched,  leering.  "  So 
the  little  dog  growls  over  his  little  bone,  like  the  big  dog 
over  his  big  one."  He  stood  looking  savage  for  a  moment, 
then  suddenly  laughed.  "My  fault!  I  shouldn't  look 
at  stuff  like  this.  But  I  know  the  value  of  it,  know  what 
could  be  done  with  the  money.  That's  what  makes  me 
mad.  There,"  he  laughed  out  loud,  "  I'll  leave  it  alone, 
I  don't  want  it.     I'll  clear  off." 

"  Yes,  you  had  better,"  said  Julep  somewhat  mol- 
lified. 

For  a  few  moments  they  stood  looking  at  one  an- 
other. Trigg  by  this  time  quite  controlled  and  laugh- 
ing, Julep  stolid  under  his  black  brows,  but  inclined  to 
smile. 

"  Right  you  are,  I'll  clear  off,  and  good  luck  to  your 
finding,"  said  Trigg  as  he  turned,  then  walked  away 
whistling. 

After  he  had  gone,  Julep  shook  the  pearls  out  into  his 
palm.  For  a  long  while  he  looked  at  them,  turning 
them  this  way  and  that,  then  with  a  sigh  put  them  back 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  119 

into  the  bag  which  every  evening  he  was  accustomed  to 
hand  over  to  Cray. 

IV 

That  evening  Julep  showed  to  Cray,  when  handing 
them  over,  the  splendid  findings  of  his  day's  work. 

"  We'll  be  rich  men,"  Cray  remarked,  highly  satisfied. 
"  Another  month  and  we  can  start  home." 

They  talked  of  their  total  takings,  and  Julep  calculated 
that  together  from  pearls  and  shell  he  might  receive  a 
share  of  two  thousand  pounds.  He  thought  of  Cray's 
nine-tenths  enviously.  The  pearls  that  he  had  just  handed 
over  to  his  chief  he  looked  at  with  a  feeling  of  regret, 
then  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  they  all 
went  towards  the  common  store.  What  surprised  him 
that  evening  was  that  the  safe  was  not  in  its  usual  place, 
and  that  Cray  merely  returned  the  pearls  to  the  bag 
and  laid  them  on  a  shelf  in  the  cabin. 

This  small  incident  seemed  insignificant  at  the  time, 
but  later  it  caused  disturbing  cogitations.  He  wondered 
uneasily  why  Cray  had  removed  the  safe  from  its  accus- 
tomed place. 

v 

During  the  last  weeks  John  had  been  taking  regular 
reading  lessons  from  Mrs.  Cray.  Besides  teaching  him 
to  read,  she  explained  thoroughly  the  matter  that  they 
read,  so  that  John  came  to  have  an  ever-widening  view 
of  the  value  of  civilization  and  of  the  progress  of  man 
in  different  ages  of  history.  Such  stimulating  thoughts, 
together  with  his  passionate  and  ever-growing  adoration 
for  Mrs.  Cray,  filled  the  whole  world  of  his  brain.  The 
events  of  everyday  work,  the  intercourse  with  Julep  and 


120  THE     MAINLAND 

Cray,  and  even  the  advent  of  Trigg  and  Bella  became 
merely  the  grey  background  over  and  above  which  the 
wings  of  his  imagination  could  feel  the  yielding  air, 
preparatory  to  strong  flights  into  mists  of  hope  and  aspira- 
tion. 

If  it  is  ever  possible  for  the  human  soul  to  know 
happiness,  it  is  surely  in  that  trembling  flight  of  imagina- 
tion, ready  to  fling  all  destiny  to  the  fair  promise  of  de- 
sire. In  these  first  weeks  John  was  supremely  happy, 
but  the  early  happiness  was  short-lived,  for  he  began  to 
notice  that  Mrs.  Cray  gradually  withdrew  herself  from 
him,  and  even  seemed  to  avoid  his  company.  There 
were  still  times  when  she  read  with  him,  but  on  these 
occasions  she  talked  much  less  than  formerly.  It  now 
appeared  that  she  selected  only  dull  and  prosy  things, 
deliberately  building  up  a  wall  between  their  eager  senses 
of  appreciation  which  at  first  so  joyfully  had  mingled, 
gaining  from  each  other  additional  strength. 

Both  day  and  night  John  was  consumed  by  the  thought 
that  she  was  cutting  herself  off  from  him,  becoming 
always  more  remote.  For  a  while  he  bore  his  pain  in 
silence,  then,  after  many  nights  of  troubled  thought, 
during  which  his  manhood  was  strengthened  by  suffer- 
ing, he  determined  to  confront  her  and  demand  the  reason 
for  so  denying  their  friendship.  How  had  he  displeased 
her,  or  in  what  had  he  failed? 

Since  their  division  Mrs.  Cray  seldom  went  for  walks 
in  the  evening,  and  John  no  longer  had  opportunity  of 
finding  her  alone.  Lately  she  had  taken  to  walking  in 
the  early  mornings,  when  she  knew  that  he  was  at  work 
with  the  divers.     After  a  night  of  much  deliberation  and 


THE     WIDE     HORIZON  121 

painful  thought  John  determined  to  leave  his  work  the 
next  morning  in  the  charge  of  one  of  the  chief  natives 
who  could  be  trusted.  He  would  then  be  free  to  find 
Mrs.  Cray  by  herself  and  demand  an  explanation. 

He  followed  her  track  from  the  camp,  and  came  upon 
her  sitting  under  some  close-grown  stunted  bushes  on 
the  cliff's  edge.  Round  about,  the  grass  was  luxuriant, 
but  had  been  kept  short  by  the  constant  passage  of  the 
wind.  She  looked  up,  surprised  to  see  him,  greeting  him 
with  a  faint  trace  of  alarm.  With  words  that  she  knew 
were  insincere  she  tried  to  gain  time  until  she  could  read 
his  meanings.  "  Is  anything  wrong  at  the  camp?  Why 
are  you  not  at  your  work?  " 

He  stood  in  front  of  her,  rendered  inarticulate  by  the 
difficulty  of  his  task,  charged  with  emotion.  From  the 
pose  of  her  slight  figure  as  she  sat  on  the  grass  with  hands 
clasped  round  her  knees  he  could  see  that  she  was  nerv- 
ous, and  now  that  it  had  come  to  speaking,  he  realized 
how  brutal  and  stupid  were  any  words  at  his  command. 
"  No,  the  camp's  all  right,"  he  blurted  out.  Then  des- 
perately, "Why  do  you  avoid  me?  You  hardly  speak 
to  me  now,  but  keep  away." 

"  But  I  don't  avoid  you.     You  must  imagine  it." 

"  You  do.  You  know  you  do.  What  have  I  done  to 
make  you  like  that?  " 

"  You  imagine  it,  John."  Then  rather  coldly,  "  I  like 
to  be  by  myself  sometimes,  that's  all." 

He  stood  biting  his  lips,  very  red  in  the  face.  "  I'm 
sorry  if  that's  it.  I've  been  stupid,  good-bye."  He 
turned  fiercely  away,  his  voice  trembling  with  mortifi- 
cation. 


122  THE     MAINLAND 

"  John,  come  here,"  she  called.  "  Come  here,  John." 
He  paused,  uncertain.  "  Come  and  sit  down,  don't  be 
angry." 

He  came  back  two  paces.     "  What  is  it?  "  he  said. 

"  I've  been  horrid,  I  know.     Sit  down.     Let  me  talk." 

He  remained  standing,  obstinate  in  resistance. 

"  While  we  were  friends  I  was  happy,"  she  continued, 
"  more  happy  than  you  know.  You  were  the  first  friend 
I'd  had  for  ever  so  many  years.  I  don't  make  many 
friends.  I'm  always  travelling,  you  see.  My  husband, 
he  also  has  very  few  friends,  just  one  or  two  whom  he 
sees  occasionally.  Men  don't  like  him  for  the  most  part, 
and  he  never  bothers  about  women.  When  we  left 
Kaimera  I  loved  those  days  at  sea  and  the  expeditions  on 
shore.  I  liked  it  when  you  told  me  about  wild  creatures 
and  when  I  showed  you  in  books  things  that  were  new 
and  beautiful  to  you."  She  looked  now  distressfully  at 
him.  "  But  you  don't  understand  how  it  is  when  people 
are  married.  My  husband  doesn't  like  me  to  see  so 
much   of   you.     It's  not   that  he's   jealous,"    she   added 

quickly,  "  but  he  just "  she  paused  for  words,  then 

finished  lamely,  "  told  me  not  to." 

"Did  he  say  that?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He  has  no  right." 

"  John,  don't  get  angry.  You  don't  understand.  It's 
like  this  in  all  marriages.  There  is  so  much  in  which  a 
husband  and  wife  must  consider  each  other." 

The  young  man  looked  hard  at  her  anxious  face. 
"  You're  not  happy,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  happiness  is  not  a  thing  to  be  bothered  about." 

"  But  you,  who  could  be  happy  —  why  aren't  you?  " 


THE     WIDE     HORIZON  123 

"  I  am  sometimes,  and  have  been,  as  you  know." 

"  Not  often  I'm  sure.     You  change  so  much." 

"  Few  people  are,  but  it  would  never  do  if  we  all  cried 
about  our  little  tin-pot  tragedies." 

With  the  simple  directness  of  extreme  youth,  his  voice 
full  of  concern  and  sympathy,  he  asked,  "  What  is  it 
that  hurts  you?  " 

In  their  simplicity  the  words  fell  with  extraordinary 
appeal.  She  knew  that  it  was  wrong  to  speak,  but  feelings 
that  for  years  had  been  suppressed  surged  up  to  find 
expression. 

"  Sit  down,  John,  and  I'll  tell  you.  Don't  stand  like  a 
judgment  over  me."  He  obeyed,  sitting  in  the  sunlight 
opposite  to  her.  Her  eyes  were  very  wide  open,  fixed 
steadily  upon  him.  He  knew  that  she  was  speaking  from 
her  heart.  "  I've  never  had  any  home.  I've  always 
travelled,  travelled,  and  my  husband  he  doesn't  really 
care  about  me.  All  his  life  he  lives  in  his  own  mind,  in 
his  plans  and  schemes.  He  could  never  recognize  a 
woman's  life.     I  simply  don't  exist.     Haven't  you  seen?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  unable  to  speak  more.  Then  after 
a  long  pause,  "  But  he's  so  nice.     I'm  awfully  fond  of 

him.     Oh!  how  stupid!     But  why  does  he  mind " 

She  cut  him  short. 

"  John,  you  must  be  my  friend.  Perhaps  I  shouldn't 
have  told  you.  Be  my  friend.  Don't  show  anything  — 
I  am  glad  of  you.  .  .  .  Just  be  as  you  are.  .  .  . 
You  have  made  a  great  difference  to  my  life.  .  .  . 
Don't  show  that  you  know  anything  about  me,  or  think  of 
me.  Let  us  be  as  we  have  been.  If  I  have  helped  you  to 
a  little,  you  have  helped  me  ten  times  more." 

"How?" 


124  THE     MAINLAND 

"  By  being  what  you  are,"  she  smiled,  "  unspoiled  and 
able  to  see  all  the  things  that  I  see." 

He  was  unspeakably  glad  of  what  she  said,  feeling  that 
they  had  come  very  far  from  where  they  started.  His 
mind  harked  back.  "  But  then  I  must  be  allowed  to  see 
you." 

She  hesitated  in  uncertainty.  "  Yes,  but  not  too 
much." 

"  Can  we  go  out  as  we  used  to  and  read?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes,  but  not  too  often." 

With  more  feeling  betrayed  in  his  voice  than  he  had 
intended  he  said,  "  You  don't  know  how  I  look  forward 
to  those  times." 

Mrs.  Cray  looked  a  little  distressed.  After  a  silence 
she  said,  "  John,  I  want  you  to  be  very  sensible.  Remem- 
ber that  I  am  ever  so  much  older  than  you  are  —  more 
than  ten  years.  You  have  seen  nothing  of  life  and  I 
have  seen  so  much,  and  have  lived  before  I  was  married 
far  more  than  you  have."  John,  only  half  understanding 
her  thoughts  and  finding  them  contradictory,  remained 
silent.  To  break  this  silence  she  went  on  rather  lamely, 
"  You  must  be  willing  always  to  take  my  advice." 

Looking  at  her  now,  as  she  sat  opposite  him,  the  young 
man  felt  her  present  weakness  and  uncertainty.  He  felt, 
too,  a  quality  of  enveloping  mystery  of  which  he  was 
ignorant.  There  was  something;  between  them  and  around 
them  at  that  moment  greater  and  stronger  than  them- 
selves. They  were  in  the  shadow  of  a  falling  wave.  It 
bent  over  them,  and  then  hung  suspended.  An  impulse 
rose  to  say  how  much  he  worshipped  her,  to  lie  at  her 
feet  and  touch  the  edge  of  her  skirt,  to  declare  that  she 
was  even-thing  that  was  beautiful  and  wonderful  in  the 


THE     WIDE     HORIZON  125 

world,  that  when  she  was  absent  all  things  were  trans- 
fused into  an  urging  hope  for  his  next  view  of  her,  and 
that  when  she  was  present  the  world  was  perfect,  throb- 
bing with  inexpressible  hope.  But  to  say  any  of  these 
things  would  be  vain  and  useless.  They  would  be  false 
in  their  inadequacy.  She  would  see  their  falseness  and 
would  be  displeased.  She  would  be  kind  out  of  compas- 
sion. He  did  not  wish  to  appear  a  fool  and  weak.  Yet. 
under  the  shadow  of  the  threatening  wave,  there  surged 
up  his  weakness  and  folly.  Only  by  looking  away  out  to 
sea  at  the  far-stretching  waters  was  he  able  to  keep 
down  that  flood  of  inadequate  words.  The  extent  and 
placidity  of  the  distant  ocean  gave  new  assurance.  The 
secret  of  himself,  yet  unknown,  he  must  keep  hidden, 
willing  to  accept  in  gratitude  the  certainty  of  the  patient 
earth,  of  the  smiling  sea,  of  the  land,  beautiful  and 
rugged,  crumbling  beneath  its  weight. 

His  companion  was  also  looking  out  over  the  sea.  On 
that  wide  horizon  he  knew  that  they  could  meet  and 
perhaps  smile  untroubled  to  one  another.  In  the  forests, 
in  the  life  of  the  jungle,  and  on  the  sea  was  light-hearted 
happiness.  That  was  where  she  wished  them  to  meet; 
and  in  the  silence  of  their  look  seaward  was  the  strength 
of  her  hope.  The  secret  of  himself  was  yet  dark  and  un- 
veiled, though  a  moment  ago  it  had  pulsed  through  his 
temples  and  heart.  Now  as  he  gazed  on  the  beauty  of  the 
tropical  morning  he  became  placid,  sure  of  himself.  He 
had  been  promised  friendship,  that  was  happiness  suffi- 
cient and  overflowing. 

When  at  length  he  turned  to  her  he  saw  that  she  was 
filled  with  immaterial  joy  and  that  they  could  share 
with  each  other  their  appreciation.     For  a  brief  moment 


126  THE     MAINLAND 

their  eyes  met  in  recognition  of  common  happiness. 
Then  Mrs.  Cray  exclaimed  as  she  jumped  up,  "  We'll  be 
shockingly  late  for  breakfast  if  we  don't  hurry.  I  don't 
know  what  will  be  said  about  your  cutting  work." 

"  No  one  will  know,"  said  John  light-heartedly. 

In  this  he  was  quite  right;  and  since  they  were  not 
even  late  for  breakfast  no  remark  was  made  about  their 
morning  walk  together. 

VI 

On  a  rough  matting  of  dry  grass  under  the  shadow  of 
bushes  covered  by  an  awning  the  half-caste  girl  Bella  lay 
smoking  her  pipe  and  gazing  out  over  the  length  of  the 
bay,  where  natives  could  be  seen  at  work  on  the  beach 
and  in  the  water.  The  idle  life  on  the  island  suited  her; 
having  nothing  to  do,  she  was  able  to  rest  in  the  shade 
during  the  long  hours  of  sunlight.  In  the  evenings  Trigg 
would  return,  and  she  would  get  up  and  cook  for  him. 
He  had  promised  to  take  her  down  south  where  they 
would  live  together  as  man  and  wife,  able  to  enjoy  the 
many  benefits  of  civilization.  Having  had  some  years 
of  a  mission  education,  Bella  well  understood  the  value 
of  money.  She  was  fond  of  Trigg  for  the  primitive  and 
sufficient  reason  that  he  had  paid  her  the  attention  of 
running  off  with  her.  Also  she  knew  that  she  was  lucky 
to  live  with  a  white  man  rather  than  be  claimed  by  the 
elders  of  the  tribe  and  live  like  a  native.  If  she  had  any 
anxiety,  it  was  to  get  safely  south  with  her  man,  and  there 
be  established,  with  him  dependent  upon  her  services. 
She  knew  that  she  had  been  indispensable  in  the  past 
when  they  were  amongst  the  tribes,  but,  now  that  they 
had  fallen  in  with  these  white  people,  she  feared  that  he 


THE     WIDE    HORIZON  127 

might  possibly  desert  her.  This  fear  was  always  present 
at  the  back  of  her  mind  and  could  not  be  banished  by  his 
assurances.  Now,  as  she  lay  in  the  shade  sucking  her 
pipe,  she  turned  over  all  the  possibilities  of  their  voyage 
towards  civilization.  She  felt  that  she  needed  a  firmer 
hold. 

Towards  evening  Trigg  climbed  up  over  the  sand-hills 
and  stooped  under  the  shelter  of  the  awning.  She  did 
not  greet  him,  but  looked  up,  half-turning  on  her  side. 
Trigg  sat  down  on  an  empty  case  that  served  as  a  chair 
and  began  striking  at  the  flies  with  his  whisk.  "  It's  cool 
in  here  under  the  bushes,"  he  said,  "but  my  word!  it's 
hot  on  the  beach.  They've  got  some  stuff  there  that's 
worth  handling.  These  fellows  are  in  luck's  way.  I've 
never  seen  anything  like  it.  It's  a  good  thing  they  are 
on  to,  no  mistake."  Then  screwing  up  his  eyes  and  look- 
ing at  the  girl  between  the  lids,  "  If  only  I  could  get  a 
little  of  it,  we'd  be  all  right  for  my  farm.  But  they  are 
close  —  want  to  keep  it  all  to  themselves  —  though  there's 
more  than  enough  for  us  all." 

"  What  for  you  not  take  some?  " 

Trigg  laughed.  "  That's  just  what  I  want  to  do,  but 
it's  not  so  easy.  That  fellow  Cray,  he's  sharp,  and  Julep 
is  too  big  a  fool  to  see  his  own  interest."  Then  leaning 
back  and  striking  at  the  flies.  "  Mind  you,  I'll  get  some 
of  it  all  right  —  no  fear.     I've  settled  that  —  but  how?  " 

After  a  silence  he  leant  forward,  again  screwing  up 
his  eyes.  "  There's  no  change  to  be  got  out  of  Cray  or 
that  young  Sherwin,  who's  as  green  as  grass  for  all  his 
red  head  —  but  Julep,  he's  the  sort  of  fool  we  ought  to 
be  able  to  tackle.  Look  here,  Bella,  you  can  help,  and  it's 
that  I  want  to  talk  about.     He's  a  bit  set  on  you,  I  think, 


128  THE    MAINLAND 

by  the  look  of  things.  Well,  draw  him  on  a  bit;  warm 
him  up.  Let  him  cuddle  you,  but  don't  let  him  get  too 
close,  see!  You  know  how  to  take  care  of  yourself. 
Lead  him  on,  get  him  hot  and  feverish,  keep  him  so. 
He's  the  sort  to  rise  easy." 

The  girl  lay  still,  regarding  Trigg  with  dreamy  eyes, 
vacant  of  expression. 

Not  quite  sure  of  her,  Trigg  questioned,  "  He's  not 
a  bad  sort  of  fellow  for  a  girl,  is  he?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.     "  No." 

"  Well,  can  you  manage  him?  " 

"  I  think  so.     What  do  you  do  then?  " 

He  avoided  the  question.  "  Those  pearls,  Bella,  some 
of  them  are  worth  more  than  I  could  get  in  ten  years. 
If  I  can  get  hold  of  a  few  you  can  be  comfortable,  have 
your  own  servant,  live  like  a  lady.  Plenty  of  money  for 
ribbons  and  looking-glass.  Now  just  do  as  I  ask  and 
leave  the  pearls  to  me.  You  ask  me  what  I'm  going  to 
do.  I  don't  quite  know,  but  Julep's  the  line.  Once  get 
his  nose  down  on  the  track  and  his  fool  eyes  and  ears 
shut,  and  I'll  get  the  money,  you  leave  that  alone." 

"  How  long  you  stay  here?  "  she  asked  suspiciously. 

"  Oh !  I  don't  know.  Long  enough  to  best  him  and 
Cray  too.  Come,  he's  not  a  bad  sort  of  fool  for  a  girl 
to  play  with.     You'll  have  your  fun  out  of  it!  " 

"  That  time  you  get  plenty  pearls.  What  happen  then? 
You  go  south  quick  fellow,  no  mistake?  " 

"  Yes,  we  could  get  away  amongst  the  islands  for  a 
bit  in  my  canoe  and  then  down  to  Broom.  There  we 
could  get  a  steamer  to  Kaimera,  go  on  the  gold-fields  — 
keep  a  pub  and  a  store,  or  take  a  sheep  run,  do  as  you 
like.     Have  plenty  money." 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  129 

Bella  stretched  herself  and  lay  back  comfortably.  She 
laughed  softly.  "  All  right  —  Julep  easy  fellow.  He 
come  along  here  some  time  talk  plenty  much.  He  want 
me  go  along  of  bush  with  him." 

"  Oh,  does  he?     Well,  mind  you  keep  him  waiting." 

She  nodded  in  assurance,  and  Trigg  smiled,  pleased 
with  his  scheme.  As  an  afterthought  he  added,  "  Don't 
you  say  anything  to  him  about  the  pearls.  Leave  that 
to  me,  see!  " 

She  took  tobacco  from  the  pouch  that  he  held  out.  "  I 
hear  one  black  fellow  say  big  corroboree  by  and  by." 

"  Yes,  there'll  be  one  towards  morning  up  on  the  hill. 
The  people  from  the  camp  are  all  turning  out  I  believe. 
If  I  can  slip  away  I  get  over  to  the  boat  and  see  what's 
to  be  seen." 

"  Very  well,  I  go  along  corroboree  find  Julep."  She 
chuckled  mischievously,  and  Trigg  gave  her  an  affec- 
tionate kick. 

"  You  bad  woman,"  he  said,  knowing  that  she  exactly 
understood  his  wishes  and  could  be  trusted  to  carry  them 
out. 

vn 

Since  their  morning  walk  together,  when  Mrs.  Cray 
had  let  her  suppressed  feelings  find  a  momentary  expres- 
sion, John's  adoration  for  her  calm  serenity  had  been 
enriched  by  pity.  That  he  should  know  of  her  discon- 
tent caused  him  pain  and  secret  delight.  In  experience 
he  had  realized  no  unhappiness  which  did  not  openly 
make  itself  manifest;  only  in  imagination,  throbbing 
with  sympathy,  could  he  contemplate  her  dignified  en- 
durance. With  all  his  hopes  he  embraced  that  courage 
in  her,  which  does  not  cry  out,  and  which  enables  to  live, 


130  THE    MAINLAND 

together  with  unhappiness,  the  flying  delights  of  the 
moment.  This  knowledge  gave  to  his  mind  a  new-born 
joy,  a  joy  which  left  his  heart  filled  with  a  most  poignant 
ache.  Interest  in  his  work  faded,  leaving  the  day's  task 
mechanically  to  be  accomplished.  It  was  as  if  some 
presence  were  always  with  him,  complaining  of  his  ir- 
reverence, making  demands,  vague  and  intangible,  that 
remained  unsatisfied.  If  he  worked  he  was  restless, 
disgusted  with  himself,  and  if  he  stopped  to  look  into 
his  heart  and  there  seek  to  recognize  the  intruder  he  felt 
his  inside  go  cold  within  him,  and  worked  on  again  for 
fear  lest  he  should  shiver. 

Towards  Cray,  John's  feelings  were  mixed  and  very 
uncomfortable.  He  liked  Cray  —  loved  him  with  the 
hero-worship  of  youth.  Certainly  he  admired  his  chief's 
intelligence,  but  was  puzzled  at  the  stupidity  of  his  neglect- 
ing so  rare  and  wonderful  a  being  as  his  wife.  Towards 
this  stupidity  he  felt  an  anger  which  would  have  found 
expression  had  not  his  good  sense  warned  him  that  it 
would  have  been  ridiculous.  To  attempt  criticism  would 
be  useless  and  would  involve  being  snubbed.  What  Mrs. 
Cray  had  not  been  able  to  effect,  he  had  better  leave  alone. 

In  a  way  he  was  glad  that  Cray  was  stupid  in  this  one 
most  important  respect.  Yet  had  it  been  put  to  him  that 
by  any  act  he  could  make  happiness  where  there  was  now 
estrangement  he  believed  that  he  could  gladly  have  found 
his  one  delight  in  his  friends'  mutually-recovered  appre- 
ciation. What  baffled  him  in  Cray  was  that  he  didn't 
seem  to  realize  that  anything  was  wrong.  He  appeared 
supremely  pleased,  especially  with  himself;  John  was 
left  wondering  at  his  obtuseness. 

When  they  were  all  three  together  John  felt  the  bonds 


THE     WIDE     HORIZON  131 

of  his  friendship  with  Mrs.  Cray  grow  taut  and  strong. 
He  knew  her  thoughts,  or  at  any  rate  some  of  them.  He 
saw  how  much  she  was  unappreciated,  and  with  all  the 
prodigality  of  youth  longed  to  offer  the  unvalued  wealth 
of  his  soul  as  recompense.  Here  again  Cray  remained 
oblivious  of  their  feelings;  but  John  felt  that  Mrs.  Cray 
understood  and  rather  feared  his  passionate  desire  to 
give  all  and  more  than  he  had.  His  desire  for  giving 
could  never  be  satisfied;  he  had,  so  it  seemed,  little  to 
give.  Besides,  she  was  shy  of  accepting.  Any  protesta- 
tions would  be  killed  by  the  chill  of  her  dignity.  His 
sympathy,  to  be  allowed  her  presence,  must  be  always 
veiled,  hidden  beneath  the  hard  shell  of  everyday  cheer- 
fulness. He  felt  that  she  tutored  him.  Like  a  child, 
agile  to  learn  and  eager  for  approval,  he  walked  at  her 
discretion.  He  was  pleased  only  if  he  could  please  her, 
and  yet  something  unnamed  within  him  scorned  his 
child's  humility.  Though  his  mind  might  be  conquered 
and  in  happy  bondage,  his  heart  still  rebelled,  making 
him  to  roam  by  night  along  the  beaches  cold  and  hot 
by  turns,  in  the  cool  air.  In  his  isolation  he  had  no  prec- 
edent; he  knew  only  of  what  was  within  himself:  the 
disharmony  and  conflict,  the  joy  and  the  pain,  and  the 
strange  shivering  at  night.  Sometimes  he  came  near  to 
understanding  that  there  might  be  a  remedy  in  the 
functioning  of  his  own  life,  but  he  doubted  that  audacity 
in  himself,  unwilling  to  find  both  intelligence  and  soul 
but  contained  fractions  of  his  body's  need. 

As  for  the  other  white  men  on  the  island,  John  saw 
and  thought  little  about  them.  Trigg  he  instinctively 
disliked,  and  from  Julep  he  wished  to  keep  hidden  his 
present  thoughts  and  feelings.     He  spent  a  good  deal  of 


132  THE    MAINLAND 

time  by  himself  (though  he  attempted  not  to  appear 
moody),  and,  only  because  Cray  urged  him,  did  he  prom- 
ise to  be  present  at  the  corroboree  that  the  native  tribes  were 
preparing. 

On  the  appointed  night  he  went,  together  with  Cray 
and  Julep,  up  through  the  long  grass  towards  the  forest- 
clad  hills.  Several  tribes  from  neighbouring  islands  had 
gathered  to  witness  the  sacred  dances,  and  as  Cray's 
party  moved  forward,  they  were  conscious  of  stirring 
grass  on  either  side  and  of  shapes  which  kept  themselves 
hidden. 

The  corroboree  was  to  be  followed  by  the  initiation 
of  certain  youths,  and  would  be  the  sign  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  spring  period  of  Saturnalia.  Later 
there  would  probably  be  tribal  fights,  but  these  would  not 
occur  during  the  first  few  days. 

Cray  had  been  much  interested  in  all  the  preparations, 
and  had  of  late  deserted  the  work  on  the  beaches  to 
spend  his  days  inland  talking  to  the  tribal  elders,  taking 
notes  of  their  customs,  and  making  genealogies.  This 
new  interest  appealed  to  his  active  mind  as  even  more 
engrossing  than  the  quick  fortune  that,  day  by  day,  grew 
beneath  his  hand.  He  believed  that  in  these  primitive 
men  might  be  found  the  source  and  mingling  of  all  the 
nascent  prejudices  of  religion,  ethics  and  social  custom. 
In  the  evenings  he  sat  alone  in  his  tent  writing  out  his 
day's  notes,  sometimes  gazing  in  abstraction  over  the 
sea  while  some  new  idea  took  shape  in  his  mind. 

At  the  place  where  the  dance  was  to  be  held  the  natives 
were  ranged  in  a  wide  half-circle  of  small  groups,  each 
centred  about  a  fire  of  glowing  sticks.  On  the  right  of 
the  curve  was  a  pile  of  brushwood  fifteen  feet  high.     In 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  133 

the  centre  was  bare  ground  beaten  hard  and  smooth.  Cray 
took  his  place  a  little  to  the  rear  on  the  left  wing  and 
sat  down  with  John  and  Julep  to  watch  the  ceremony.  By 
this  time  bull-roarers  were  sounding  from  all  points,  their 
varying  modulations  sounded  as  the  voices  of  bush-spirits, 
strong  in  expectancy,  speaking  of  things  of  deep  signifi- 
cance. 

The  groups  of  natives  were  singing  in  a  nasal,  monoto- 
nous chant.  One  group  would  slowly  lift  the  refrain 
from  a  low,  rasping  dirge,  like  waves  upon  a  pebbly 
beach,  to  the  high-pitched  scream  of  the  under  sough 
in  a  tempest.  Imperceptibly  they  would  drop  it  to  a 
whisper  and  the  faint  tenderness  of  broken  voices.  When 
the  spirit  of  the  song  was  almost  dead,  the  next  group 
would  take  it  up,  remake  it,  give  the  same  fierce  climax, 
the  same  fading  death,  then  pass  it  on.  Sometimes  pos- 
sessed by  the  spirit  of  the  land  and  of  dead  generations, 
they  would  sing  all  together,  and,  as  the  blue  smoke-spires 
wafted  dimly  up  into  the  darkness  above  the  embers, 
John  felt  his  flesh  quiver  and  little  ripples  of  emotion 
creep  over  his  skin  as  his  heart  beat  fast  in  response. 
Cray's  eyes  shone  with  excitement.  His  clear-cut  features, 
catching  the  firelight,  symbolized  the  advance  of  man's 
intelligence  from  out  the  early  birth  of  emotion. 

This  singing  continued  with  the  same  monotony  and 
the  same  variations  till  the  first  glimmer  of  dawn;  then, 
without  any  warning,  an  old  man  stepped  into  the  bare 
space  in  the  centre.  There  was  at  once  silence.  For  a 
minute  or  more  he  harangued  in  a  loud  voice,  then  stepped 
back  into  the  bushes.  At  once  a  flame  ran  up  the  pile 
of  brushwood,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  women  bent 
their  heads  to  the  earth,  hiding  their  faces  under  skins, 


134  THE    MAINLAND 

lest  they  should  see  or  hear  sights  or  sounds  of  magic 
allowed  to  men  alone,  making  at  the  same  time  a  moan- 
ing noise.  The  dry  brushwood  blazed  into  a  roaring 
flame,  and  into  the  open  space  of  bright  light  there  came 
eleven  male  figures  dressed  for  the  dance.  Their  bodies 
were  blackened  all  over  with  soot  and  oil,  long  red 
and  white  streaks  of  clay  shone  brightly  against  this 
background.  On  the  hips  and  shoulders  were  tufts  of  emu 
feathers,  while  on  their  heads,  or  rather  round  their 
faces,  were  the  sacred  waninga  or  head-dresses.  These, 
spider-web  fashion,  radiated  out  from  the  face,  which 
was  thrust  through  a  hole  in  the  centre.  The  connecting 
strands,  covered  with  white  down,  were  sometimes 
smeared  with  clay.  Varying  in  size  from  small  ovals,  not 
more  than  two  feet  across,  to  shapes  which  touched  the 
ground  and  stood  ten  feet  high,  they  presented  an  irregu- 
lar and  weird  appearance.  The  dancers  proceeded  with 
sharp,  mechanical  movements,  knees  and  elbows  bent, 
jerkily  twisting  in  their  hands  white  down-covered  sticks 
as  they  danced.  Their  conventional  steps  and  gestures 
suggested  automata  sprung  of  a  sudden  from  the  earth 
to  express  some  of  its  savage  significance.  With  heads 
thrust  forward  and  with  features  fixed  in  a  set  grin,  their 
movements  portrayed  a  complex  of  emotions.  Piety  was 
there,  deliberate  and  enduring;  savagery,  abrupt  with 
fierce  intentions;  a  mystic  seriousness,  a  phallic  facetious- 
ness,  an  intense  grotesque  maleness  more  pious  than  the 
grave  endurance  of  a  thousand  madonnas. 

While  the  figures  shifted  in  the  slow  maze  of  the  dance 
the  nasal  chant  swung  through  all  its  modulations,  sup- 
ported always  on  the  undercurrent  of  the  low  moans  of 
the  women. 


THE     WIDE    HORIZON  135 

The  brushwood,  which  had  burnt  quickly  with  a  fierce 
blaze,  as  quickly  died  down.  As  the  flames  flickered  and 
fell  the  dancers  withdrew  into  the  darkness  of  the  trees. 
The  old  man  who  had  announced  their  coming  ran  out  into 
the  open  gesticulating,  then  the  women  raised  their  faces 
and  the  onlookers  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  first 
faint  traces  of  morning  to  the  eastward.  The  long  chant 
ceased,  the  corroboree  was  over,  and  in  small  groups  the 
natives  began  to  move  away  into  the  bush. 

Throughout  the  dance  John  had  sat  rigidly  still,  while 
his  heart  beat  fiercely  in  response.  There  had  come  over 
him  a  sense  of  new  power.  It  seemed  that  the  secret  of 
his  body's  self  had  been  revealed.  He  held  the  clue  to 
life;  had  brushed  against  the  mystery  of  the  male  sex, 
and  had  come  away  strengthened  with  savage  power  from 
the  contact.  He  was  isolated  by  the  sudden  poignancy 
of  his  own  existence.  The  dispersing  figures  of  the  na- 
tives seemed  like  forms  seen  through  thick  glass.  In 
this  world  of  shapes  his  attention  could  be  fixed,  able 
to  take  notice,  yet  somehow  removed.  He  saw  that  Bella 
was  standing  not  far  away.  He  felt  a  passing  attrac- 
tion for  the  shape  of  her  bare  shoulder  and  breast,  then 
her  sallow  face  and  narrow  eyes  repelled  him.  She  moved 
leisurely  across  the  open  space,  stood  at  an  opening  in 
the  trees  and  looked  back,  then  disappeared  into  the 
bush.  Julep  rose  with  a  kind  of  slow  deliberation  and 
walked,  like  some  great  animal  wakened  from  sleep, 
across  the  open,  pushed  his  way  through  the  trees  that 
had  closed  behind  her,  and  was  lost  to  sight.  John 
watched  and  understood.  He  was  himself  far  away,  liv- 
ing intensely  in  his  own  heart. 

He  looked  round  at  Cray,  and  felt  anger  that  he  should 


136  THE    MAINLAND 

be  making  notes  in  a  book.  He  resented  the  power  that 
could  hold  aloof,  valuing  all  things  through  cold  intelli- 
gence. Cray  looked  up,  smiling.  "  That  was  worth  stay- 
ing up  all  night  for,  eh  ?  "  then  he  went  on  with  his 
notes.  John  could  see  that  he  had  already  sketched  the 
positions  of  the  groups  of  natives  and  the  brushwood  fire. 
'  Yes,"  he  answered,  unable  and  unwilling  to  say  any- 
thing else.  He  did  not  envy  that  objective  detachment; 
his  feeling  appeared  more  important. 

Abruptly  he  walked  away.  He  had  a  sudden  vision  of 
a  certain  piece  of  cliff's  edge  that  he  wished  to  be  on, 
feeling  an  absolute  conviction  that  Mrs.  Cray  would  walk 
there  as  soon  as  the  sun  was  up.  It  was  now  an  hour 
or  more  to  sunrise,  and  if  he  ran  he  could  be  there  in 
half  the  time.  He  started  off  to  walk,  unwilling  to  get 
there  too  soon;  but  before  long  his  limbs  carried  him  along 
in  a  steady  run. 

He  had  to  wait  nearly  an  hour,  during  which  time  he 
sat  perfectly  still  concealed  in  the  bushes.  When  at 
length  she  came  he  waited  till  she  was  near,  then  walked 
to  meet  her. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  here,"  he  said. 

She  checked  and  reddened.  Her  voice  was  rather  high- 
pitched  with  sudden  excitement.     "  How?  " 

"  I've  been  waiting  an  hour." 

"  But  why?  "  She  drew  back  a  step,  but  not  sufficient 
to  escape  his  hands  upon  her  wrists.  From  her  wrists 
they  went  to  her  shoulders,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  in 
his  arms  and  his  lips  were  on  her  mouth.  Unresistingly 
she  suffered  his  kisses. 

If  she  had  tried  to  repulse  him,  he  knew  that  he  had 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  137 

power  to  overcome  her  resistance.  He  was  sure  of  his 
new  strength  and  master.  While  he  kissed  her,  she  lay 
quite  still  with  her  blue  eyes  wide  open.  Trembling, 
though  masterful,  he  held  her.  In  her  eyes  he  could  see 
that  there  was  no  resistance.  He  could  see  that  there 
was  joy,  but  as  he  gazed  he  saw  that  somewhere  in  the 
depths  of  her  passivity  there  was  something  unknown 
which  made  him  pause.  He  could  not  find  thought  for 
what  it  was ;  gradually  it  filled  him  with  awe,  and  touched 
his  heart  with  a  flutter  of  fear.  His  grasp  became  more 
gentle,  not  so  masterful.  He  felt  he  could  not  hold  her 
gently  enough.  He  almost  feared  to  look  into  her  eyes, 
feared  now  to  kiss  her.  His  hands  trembled  to  her  shoul- 
ders, then  fell.     He  stood  looking  at  her  abashed. 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  his  bare  arm.  "  What  is 
it?" 

"  Everything!     I  don't  know!     I  had  to!  " 

She  looked  at  him  very  frankly.  "  Yes,  I  know.  I've 
seen  it,  and  been  afraid." 

"Why  afraid?" 

"  You  see  I'm  married  and  ever  so  much  older  than 
you  are.  I  knew  that  there  was  danger,  but  was  glad  of 
you."  Then  very  seriously,  "  John,  I  have  tried  to  avoid 
you." 

"  But  marriage  makes  no  difference.  You've  not  been 
happy! " 

"  Yes,  in  myself  always." 

"  Not  —  not  happy  as  now?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  glad?  " 

Very  slightly  she  inclined  her  head  but  did  not  answer. 


138  THE    MAINLAND 

"  Will  you  kiss  me?    Thank  you." 

"  You  silly,  John,"  she  laughed,  "  you  mustn't  say 
thank  you  for  kisses." 

He  blushed,  feeling  himself  a  child.  Where  indeed 
had  his  strong  and  primitive  impulses  vanished? 

In  her  easy  triumph  she  turned  towards  the  sea  that 
lay  shining  and  placid  far  beneath  them  clothed  in  the 
morning  light.  From  its  wide  bright  eye  she  seemed  to 
gain  added  confidence.  John  felt  her  strength  and  was 
inarticulate.  Her  airy  spirit  dominated  him,  making  to 
recede  all  recollections  of  primitive  male  aborigines.  In 
his  submission  he  could  take  infinite  pleasure  in  the  sight 
of  her  free  body,  the  intake  of  her  breath,  and  the  rising 
sunlight,  yet  cold  from  the  sea,  reflected  on  her  hair. 
All  the  restraint  of  their  first  separation  vanished. 
He  had  risen  to  an  equality,  while  yet  remaining  in 
subjection.  The  relationship  seemed  perfect.  With  a 
smile  she  turned,  meeting  the  love  and  adoration  of  his 
eyes.  "  There's  time  to  walk  on.  I  want  to  get  higher 
up,  to  see  right  down  the  long  beach." 

His  hand  took  hers  with  unembarrassed  happiness  as 
they  walked  further  along  the  cliff's  edge.  Their  talk 
was  of  all  the  small  things  that  have  so  much  significance: 
the  few  flowers  by  the  way,  the  coral  pools  and  the  long 
beaches,  ants  and  insects  on  the  ground  at  their  feet, 
birds  in  the  air,  and  in  the  water  the  sleepy  turtles  that 
browse  off  beds  of  seaweed. 

When  they  turned  to  walk  back  they  kissed  again  in 
silence,  then,  to  assure  himself  of  his  supreme  joy,  he 
held  her  hand  very  tight  as  they  retraced  their  steps. 
He  had  an  impulse  to  turn,  to  stay  away  all  day  that  they 
might  go  together  to  the  end  of  the  island.     She  laughed, 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  139 

admitting  that  it  would  be  splendid,  but  would  not  allow 
him. 

Together  they  walked  back  in  their  new-won  happiness, 
John  envying  the  flying  minutes,  yet  unspeakably  glad 
in  the  thought  of  the  morrow  and  the  day  after.  He  was 
a  child.  She  had  made  him  a  child  after  all  —  a  happy 
child  walking  upon  air. 

VIII 

Although  Bella  had  walked  leisurely  across  the  open 
space  while  she  knew  that  she  was  being  watched,  she 
moved  very  quickly  when  once  hidden  by  the  trees. 
Julep,  following  hot  on  the  scent,  was  disappointed  to 
see  nothing  of  her  when  once  under  the  shadow  of  the 
covering  branches.  Peering  about  in  the  dim  light  he 
could  see  only  the  tree-trunks  and  the  black  roofing  of 
leaves.  He  walked  first  in  one  direction  then  in  another, 
making  casts,  looking  behind  wide  stems,  deliberate  in  his 
search.  At  length  puzzled,  he  stooped  to  examine  her 
footmarks,  but  these  were  already  made  indistinct  by 
his  own,  which  had  many  times  crossed  the  trail.  While 
he  was  on  all  fours  with  eyes  close  to  the  earth  he  heard 
a  laugh  and  looking  up  saw  the  object  of  his  search 
perched  in  the  fork  of  a  bough  about  ten  feet  from  the 
ground. 

"  You  look  plenty  hard  you  find  him,"  laughed  Bella* 
swinging  out  one  of  her  little  yellow  legs  so  that  a  foot 
waved  above  Julep  and  then  was  withdrawn  to  safety. 

"  So  you've  got  up  a  tree?  "  he  said  smiling.  "  What 
made  you  do  that?  " 

"  I  like  climb  tree.     Nice  place  here." 

"Nice  place  is  it?     Is  there  room  for  two?  " 


140  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Maybe  —  not  plenty  room.  You  too  big  fellow," 
and  she  laughed  again,  the  clear  rippling  laugh  of  the 
natives,  expressive  of  unclouded  merriment. 

Julep  went  to  the  tree-trunk  and  tried  to  reach  the 
bough  to  swing  himself  up.  After  several  vain  attempts 
he  muttered  that  the  damned  bough  was  too  high  and 
slippery  to  get  a  grip  on.  "  How  did  you  get  up?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Use  my  toes  plenty  much.     You  too  heavy." 

Julep  walked  back  under  her  perch.  "  You  come  down. 
What  you  want  to  sit  up  there  for?  " 

"  I  plenty  all  right  here.     What  for  come  down  ?  " 

"  I'll  get  a  crick  in  my  neck  if  I  stand  here  looking  up. 
Come  down  and  be  a  bit  sociable." 

"What  for?  "  she  pouted. 

For  a  while  he  looked  at  her  provoking  and  desirable 
little  body,  then,  realizing  that  she  had  the  best  of  it, 
lolled  back  against  one  of  the  large  supporting  roots, 
from  which  position  he  could  see  her  more  easily.  He 
could  now  talk  without  straining  his  neck,  and  guessed 
that  she  would  make  the  next  advance.  This  she  did 
by  swinging  her  dainty  young  legs  clear  of  the  branch 
so  that  he  had  an  admirable  view  of  the  soft  elegance  of 
their  curves. 

"  You  tired  fellow?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  go-going  to  stand  here  and  get  my 
neck  twisted,  you  little  tree-puss." 

"  What  for  tree-puss?  "  she  asked  as  she  slid  her  body 
a  little  further  down  the  bough  and  waved  her  bare  legs. 

Julep  watched  his  opportunity,  then  sprang  up,  only 
just  missing  a  foot  which  swung  into  safety.  She  gave  a 
high-pitched  scream  and  a  laugh  of  triumph. 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  141 

"  Bella,  don't  be  a  damned  little  fool !  "  She  saw  that 
he  was  angry  and  giggled,  swinging  her  foot  nearer. 
"  Yes,  you've  got  damned  pretty  little  legs,"  he  said  re- 
covering his  temper.  "  Here,  let's  have  hold."  He 
stretched  a  hand  up. 

"  You  promise  not  to  pull  me  down?  " 

"  You  come  along." 

"You  promise  true  fellow?" 

"  Come  along." 

Gingerly  she  let  her  foot  come  nearer.  His  hand 
clasped  on  the  little  round  heel.  With  his  other  hand 
he  stretched  up,  feeling  the  warm  calf  to  the  soft  skin 
inside  the  knee. 

"  Oh,  Bella,  come  down;  don't  be  a  damned  fool." 

"  What  for?     If  you  pull  I  kick." 

"Would  you ?     Damn!  "     He   caught  the   other 

foot.  In  this  position  of  security  he  waited,  smiling  in 
good-natured  triumph.  To  his  senses  it  was  not  so 
pleasant  to  take  a  woman  against  her  will  as  with  her 
consent.  "  Now  let  go,  I'll  catch  you,"  he  suggested 
pleasantly. 

She  pouted  remonstrance.  "  Too  long  way  to  fall. 
You  let  go,  perhaps  I  come  down." 

"  But  I  can  catch  you."  With  hands  holding  her 
ankles  he  moved  her  legs  to  and  fro.  "  Now  come  on 
or  I'll  have  to  pull  you." 

Bella  looked  round  furtively  in  all  directions,  then 
letting  go  her  hold  she  stretched  out  her  hands,  letting 
herself  slip  from  the  bough. 

Julep  caught  her  in  a  hot  embrace,  holding  her  body 
close,  seeking  her  mouth  with  his  lips.  For  a  moment 
she  rested  passive,  then  with  a  lithe  twist  ducked  under 


142  THE     MAINLAND 

his  arm.  It  needed  all  his  quickness  to  catch  her  by  the 
shoulders  before  she  could  escape.  With  fierce,  petulant 
gestures  she  strove  for  freedom,  but  firmly  he  drew  her 
to  him,  and  at  last  she  submitted  to  his  long  kiss,  lying 
without  resistance  in  his  arms. 

Trigg's  cynical  voice  broke  the  silence.  "  A  very  pretty 
scene  which  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt,  Mr.  Julep."  This 
was  a  cold  douche  to  passion.  Bella  wrenched  herself  free 
with  a  squawk  of  alarm.  "  So  that's  your  little  game  — 
with  another  man's  wife,  is  it?  "  Trigg  continued. 

Julep's  surprise,  or  "  flummuxment  "  as  he  would  have 
described  it,  was  so  complete  that  he  could  only  mutter 
inarticulately,  "  Most  men  in  such  circumstances  would 
look  foolish  ";  and  he  felt  that  he  was  no  exception. 

Trigg  turned  to  the  girl.  "  Now  you  clear  off  home, 
quick.     I  got  to  talk  to  our  friend  Mr.  Julep.     Get!  " 

After  the  girl  had  gone  Trigg  stood  looking  at  Julep, 
his  eyes  screwed  up,  as  was  his  way,  and  eyebrows  raised 
wrinkling  his  forehead.  Julep  was  uncomfortable  under 
the  inspection.  "What  the  hell  do  you  want?"  at  last 
he  broke  out.  Trigg,  without  changing  the  position  of 
his  features,  let  appear  the  suggestion  of  a  whimsical 
smile.  It  was  to  be  seen  that  his  mood  was  not  dangerous, 
though  the  advantage  was  with  him.  He  came  a  step 
nearer.  He  would  talk  no  doubt,  perhaps  try  to  play  the 
bully,  Julep  couldn't  be  sure.  In  the  meanwhile  the 
silence,  and  that  quizzing  expression  was  trying.  "  Well, 
what  do  you  want?  " 

"  Look  here,  Tom,"  Trigg  began  in  his  slow  Yankee 
fashion,  "  we've  been  moderate  good  mates  while  we've 
been  on  this  island;  but  this  gne  thing's  plain  —  as  plain 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  143 

as  that  you've  got  first  look  in  at  the  pearls  —  that  girl 
belongs  to  me.     See?" 

Julep  was  stolid,  not  to  be  bullied;  he  answered  in  the 
same  whimsical  vein  as  Trigg  had  adopted.  "  No  need 
to  make  a  fuss,  she's  only  a  black  girl." 

"  Black  or  white  or  yellow,  she's  mine  to  do  just  what 
I  like  with."  He  laid  emphasis  on  the  last  words.  Then 
suddenly  veering  from  the  subject  and  speaking  quickly 
before  Julep  had  time  to  answer,  "  How  much  longer  are 
you  staying  on  before  you  sail?  " 

"  Don't  know  for  sure  —  month  or  six  weeks.  We  shall 
get  away  before  the  '  Willy-Willies.'  What's  that  to  do 
with  it?  " 

"  I  was  only  thinking  how  long  you'd  be  stewing  round 
after  that  girl  —  supposing  I  was  to  stay.  Oh,  she's  a  one 
—  a  clever  girl.  Time  for  a  nice  little  honeymoon.  But 
she'd  do  as  I  tell  her,  no  fear  of  that." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,  that's  all."  He  stopped  and  scratched 
his  head.  '  When  I  was  up  north  and  coming  down  the 
coast  I  saw  plenty  of  black  fellows.  I  looked  at  the  girls 
and  the  men  as  owned  them.  The  same  rule  was  every- 
where. If  you  stole  another  man's  girl  or  tried  to  you 
were  speared  for  sure,  but  there  wasn't  a  man  who  would 
wouldn't  sell  —  for  good  price.  As  you  say,  she's  a  black 
girl." 

As  Julep  understood  Trigg's  meaning  his  heart  gave 
a  thump,  for  Bella  had  tempted  him.  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  been  robbed  of  his  natural  food,  but  could  now 
afford  to  smile  as  he  questioned,  "  What  price?  " 

"  A  share  of  the  pearls,  Tom.     You  can  have  the  girl 


144  THE    MAINLAND 

for  as  long  as  you  like,  but  you  must  let  me  in."  Julep 
hesitated.  "  That's  my  only  price,  and  if  you  don't  take 
it  —  well,  I'm  sick  of  hanging  about  here  with  nothing 
to  do  —  I  shall  clear  off  and  take  Bella  with  me.  I  don't 
want  much,  but  I  want  a  share." 

"  Some  of  them  are  mine,"  Julep  admitted  after  a 
silence.     "  I  suppose  I  can  trade  with  what's  my  own." 

"  Of  course  you  can.  Can  you  get  at  them  handy?  " 
Julep  was  embarrassed.  "  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  can't 
just  now." 

"  What,  do  you  hand  them  all  over  to  him?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  where  he  keeps  them?  " 

"  I  did,  but  they've  been  moved." 

"  Don't  you  know  where  they  are?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  you  are  .  .  ."  Trigg  whistled.  "  Not  only  do 
you  let  him  take  nine-tenths,  you  give  him  the  blooming 
lot."       • 

"  I  used  to  know  where  they  were,"  said  Julep  in 
defence,  "  but  he's  moved  them." 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  nodded  Trigg,  as  though  it  was 
a  foregone  conclusion,  "  now  he's  got  a  rich  lot.  Oh, 
Tom,  you  want  some  one  to  look  after  you."  Then  after 
contemplating  the  unfortunate  Julep  with  a  pitying  stare, 
"  I  suppose  you  know  how  many  there  were  and  what 
worth  there  was  in  the  safe,  and  what  your  own  share  is. 
Perhaps  you  don't  know  that?  " 

"  He'll  have  to  bring  them  out  if  I  ask  him  and  share 
up  as  we  said,"  growled  Julep. 

"  Will  he  ?  How  do  you  know  he's  not  taken  out  the 
best  of  them?     What's  to  make  him  hand  them  over? 


THE    WIDE    HORIZON  145 

Why  should  he  hide  them  away  if  he's  not  going  to  keep 
them?" 

"  I  know  all  the  best  ones  when  I  see  them,"  said  Julep, 
by  this  time  thoroughly  uncomfortable.  "  He'll  give 
them  up  all  right." 

"  You  think  so?     What  made  him  put  them  away?  " 
The    repeated    question    was    extremely    irritating    to 
Julep's  nervous  and  suspicious  state.     He  looked  Trigg 
straight  in  the  face.     "  With  a  scamp  like  you  about  a  man 
would  be  only  wise  to  hide  them." 

Trigg  had  not  been  expecting  this  blow.  "  No  need 
to  get  personal  because  you've  shown  yourself  a  mug. 
Well,  go  and  ask  him.  Perhaps  he'll  give  you  a  few  little 
ones  to  keep  you  quiet,  but,  before  you  make  a  bigger  fool 
of  yourself  than  you've  made  already,  remember  this:  he's 
got  the  shooting-irons,  he's  got  the  boat,  he's  got  the  pearls; 
you've  got  nothing  except  a  love  of  women  which  won't 
carry  you  far  I  guess."  Trigg  turned  as  though  finished 
with  so  outrageous  a  fool. 

"Well,  wa-what  the  hell  would  you  do?" 
"  Make  sure  of  your  own  share.  Go  carefully.  Find 
out  where  the  stuff's  kept,  and  see  that  you  get  it  at  the 
end  of  the  trip.  I'll  help  you.  I  can't  be  left  out.  It's 
more  than  human  nature  can  bear  to  see  all  these  pearls 
and  not  have  a  hand  in.  You  have  a  tenth  —  well,  give 
me  a  fifth  of  your  tenth.  I'll  see  you  get  your  share  and 
perhaps  a  bit  over,  and  you  can  have  the  girl  for  as  long 
as  you  like."  Trigg  shoved  his  face  near,  very  excited. 
"  I'll  see  you  get  your  money.  It's  bad  luck  his  hiding  it. 
That's  good  enough  for  me,  but  we'll  get  it.  Now  for 
God's  sake  don't  say  anything." 


146  THE     MAINLAND 

"And  if  I  don't  agree?"  said  Julep,  suddenly  very 
stolid. 

"  Then  I  shall  clear  off." 

Julep's  black  brows  contracted,  making  a  thick  bar 
across  his  face.     "  I  can  have  the  girl  tonight?  " 

"Tonight?  Yes,  tonight,  and  I'll  come  down  on  to 
the  beach  this  afternoon  and  help  you  look  over  the  shell 
that  the  boys  bring  in.  We're  likely  to  find  something, 
eh?" 

"  Very  well,"  said  Julep,  and  nodded  in  agreement. 

The  only  black  boy  not  at  the  corroboree  that  night 
was  Tea-cup,  who  had  followed  Peter  Trigg  on  his  night 
wandering.  He  had  followed  him  down  to  the  beach,  and 
knew  that  he  had  swum  out  to  the  cutter  and  had  come 
back  very  much  annoyed  at  finding  that  Mrs.  Cray  was 
sleeping  on  board;  then  he  had  followed  him  to  his  own 
camp,  and  after  that  into  the  bush.  The  scene  with 
Julep  he  had  witnessed,  but  less  than  half  understood. 
His  senses  were  quick  to  appreciate  that  his  loved  master 
might  perhaps  be  in  danger  and  that  Julep  was  likely  to 
go  over  to  the  enemy. 

Full  of  evil  forebodings,  he  determined  to  be  more 
watchful  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE   MIRAGE 


THOUGH  indeed  it  is  usual  for  man  to  be 
thwarted  in  not  only  his  desires  but  even  in  the 
birth  of  aspiration,  yet  sometimes  blind  circum- 
stance, by  a  malicious  or  seemingly  happy  chance,  will 
allow  sunshine  and  kindly  rain  to  nourish  the  flowers 
which  lie  hidden  and  urgent  in  the  human  soul,  and  let 
grow  those  airy  palaces,  structures  of  more  than  earthly 
beauty,  which  so  swiftly  rise  trembling  in  the  vapours  of  a 
mirage.  Such  glory  and  such  mirage  gave  indeed  a  blessed 
drunkenness,  a  joyful  agony,  a  fever  which  can  become 
august  only  in  its  consuming  and  in  its  death.  What  is 
indeed  blessed  and  cannot  be  taken  from  us,  even  in  the 
bitterness  of  the  desert,  is  that  the  mirage  was  real.  Our 
happy  fancies,  better  than  ourselves,  peopled  those  palaces. 
The  earth  was  left  below:  we  were  forgetful.  All  earthly 
measurements  were  of  the  past;  values  became  nebulous, 
to  be  created  anew,  nearer  the  heart's  desire. 

So,  before  eyes,  filled  with  the  hope  of  youth,  the 
mirage  grew  to  the  beat  of  John's  impulsive  heart.  The 
occasions  for  meeting  Mrs.  Cray  became  numerous.  They 
did  not  have  to  be  planned,  they  happened.  At  first 
John  had  no  thought  for  the  future,  it  was  enough  that 
he  could  meet  her  today,  sure  of  tomorrow;   but  later, 

147 


148  THE     MAINLAND 

when  he  came  to  know  more  of  her  life,  he  began  to  realize 
her  need  of  a  home  and  all  the  things  she  had  lived  with- 
out. Out  of  this  knowledge  there  came  a  hope,  at  first 
remote,  but  growing  quickly  in  strength,  that  he  might 
be  able  to  supply  her  need.  Often  they  talked  about 
his  father  and  the  life  on  Kanna  Island.  Then  he  would 
speak  (impersonally  always,  though  conscious  of  its  per- 
sonal application)  of  life  on  the  mainland,  sheep  farming 
and  other  means  of  earning  a  living. 

One  day  he  questioned  whether  Cray  would  not  sus- 
pect their  so  frequent  absences,  reminding  her  of  the 
earlier  protest.  Mrs.  Cray  blushed,  admitting  that  the 
protest  had  in  truth  never  been  made,  but  that  she  had 
herself  invented  it  because  she  was  afraid  of  their  growing 
intimacy.  "  He  would  never  say  anything  of  that  sort," 
she  added;  "  besides  he  is  so  occupied  with  his  own  life, 
he  never  thinks  about  me."  This  admission  made  John 
know  some  of  his  power.  It  was  a  new  thought  that  she 
should  have  feared  him  in  that  way,  and  now  that  he  had 
broken  down  the  barrier  he  felt  strong  enough  to  accept 
all  obligations  to  challenge  all  hazards. 

Another  result  of  their  intimacy  was  that  John  became 
conscious  of  himself.  On  Kanna  Island  he  had  thought 
little  of  his  appearance;  but  now  she  made  him  cogni- 
zant of  his  body.  She  admired  his  brown  skin,  his  wavy 
thick  hair  and  strong  neck  and  shoulders.  He  was  very 
glad  that  she  found  him  admirable.  With  self-apprecia- 
tion came  new  power.  He  knew  that  his  body  was  him- 
self, understanding  that  it  was  an  appeal,  a  sense  of 
pleasure  to  her  sight  and  touch  just  as  the  firm  smooth- 
ness of  her  hand  and  the  gentle  moisture  of  her  lips  filled 
him   with   unutterable   joy.     He   worshipped  her  body, 


THE    MIRAGE 


149 


finding  his  own  admirable,  exalted  by  her  response  to 
the  sense  of  a  mutual  approval. 

With  the  coming  of  self-realization  there  grew  also 
power,  threatening  her  reserve.  He  felt  his  manhood, 
knowing  not  how  to  wield  it.  Their  intellectual  sym- 
pathy was  always  her  defence.  The  untried  motives  of 
the  boy  she  was  able  to  control,  directing  towards  the 
realm  of  ideas  that  ferment  within,  which  to  her  nature 
was  so  stimulating,  to  her  intelligence  so  fraught  with 
danger  and  even  with  absurdity.  Books  had  been  half 
of  her  life;  into  this  world  she  could  lead  him,  gaining 
an  easy  mastery.  For  hours  sometimes  she  read  aloud, 
while  his  virgin  mind  drank  in  rich  essences  distilled  by 
poets  from  the  stuff  of  civilization.  Of  books  she  had  a 
a  great  store.  Together  they  dipped  into  histories  and 
into  sciences.  She  told  him  something  of  religions, 
speaking  of  them  as  of  plants  which  grew,  to  bloom, 
wither  and  be  replaced.  He  came  to  see  civiliza- 
tion as  the  increase  of  mankind,  mastering,  through  the 
ages,  the  urgencies  of  its  own  expansion.  She  read  to 
him  from  anthologies  of  poems,  and  in  boyish  enthusiasm 
he  learnt  long  verses  to  declaim  against  the  roar  of  the 
surf,  or  to  speak  slowly  on  solitary  cliff  tops.  Thus, 
holding  off  the  menace  of  his  sex,  she  could  remain  un- 
perturbed, yet  with  her  mind  could  embrace  the  picture 
of  young  manhood  afire  with  the  imaginative  inspiration 
of  her  own  spirit. 

But  although  Mrs.  Cray  could  for  a  while  hold  John  in 
control,  the  part  she  played  was,  she  knew  destined  to 
failure.  On  this  failure  she  did  not  let  her  mind  dwell 
but  was  content  to  accept  unquestioning  the  serene  and 
happy  moments  of  the  present.     John  also  thought  little 


150  THE    MAINLAND 

of  the  future.  The  relation  developed  regardless  of  his 
consciousness,  though  sometimes  when  alone  he  cherished 
the  hope  of  making  her  a  home  where  she  could  rest  from 
travelling  and  find  tranquillity. 

When  one  day  at  their  midday  meal  Cray  announced 
that  they  would  be  sailing  in  a  couple  of  weeks,  the  know- 
ledge came  with  a  sharp  stab.  John  realized  that  oppor- 
tunities of  spending  long  and  happy  evenings  with  Mrs. 
Cray  would  be  over.  He  also  remembered  that  at 
Kaimera  he  would  probably  have  no  further  excuse  for 
remaining  in  her  company.  Cray  had  talked  lightly  of, 
perhaps,  taking  him  on  as  far  as  Albany,  but  this  was 
very  vague;  and  even  if  he  went  south  with  them,  it 
would  only  put  off  the  moment  of  separation  for  a  short 
time.  John  watched  to  see  how  Mrs.  Cray  would  take 
the  news,  but  she  carefully  avoided  his  glance.  After 
the  meal  he  went  away  for  a  solitary  walk  full  of  his 
thoughts,  feeling  that  whatever  happened  he  could  never 
let  her  go  out  of  his  life.  After  walking  for  some  time, 
turning  over  in  his  mind  all  possibilities,  he  found  but 
one  conclusion:  without  her  he  could  not  live.  Of  that 
he  was  sure.     Everything  must  now  be  put  to  the  test. 

That  evening  when  they  met  he  was  resolute  to  deter- 
mine his  fate.  At  first  sight  of  him  she  knew  that  he 
was  charged  with  purpose,  felt  her  heart  leap  in  response, 
though  there  was  regret  there  also,  that  the  smooth  meas- 
ure of  their  friendship  could  not  last.  From  perverseness 
and  from  latent  fear  she  offered  to  read  as  usual.  He 
refused  with  brief  words,  and  for  a  while  they  sat  side  by 
side  in  silence. 

Their  meeting-place,  one  where  they  had  often  sat  talk- 
ing or  reading  together,  was  a  grove  of  Morton  figs  near 


THE     MIRAGE  151 

the  round  of  a  cliff's  top.  Beneath  the  dark  leaves  they 
were  now  in  shadow,  though  they  faced  westward  to- 
wards the  setting  sun.  The  low  hanging  boughs  cut  them 
off  from  the  direct  rays,  but  the  sun's  reflection  from  the 
sea  was  flung  bright  on  their  faces.  Inside  the  tent  of  the 
branches  there  was  wide  room  since  the  ground  was  bare 
of  all  luxuriant  growth,  the  hard  soil  supporting  only  short 
grass  and  close-grown  moss. 

When  she  was  thus  silent  in  expectancy,  John  found 
speech  very  difficult.  All  her  superiority  of  education 
and  birth  was  then  upon  her  side.  John  was  humbled 
and  abashed. 

"  In  two  weeks,  he  says,  we  are  going  to  start  south," 
he  began  at  last. 

"  Yes." 

There  was  not  much  help  in  the  response.  John  won- 
dered how  he  could  bridge  the  distance  that  they  were 
apart.  Could  he  have  courage  to  call  her  by  her  name, 
a  thing  he  had  never  done.  It  would  sound,  he  thought, 
absurd  and  decided  against  it.  Then  quite  simply  he 
found  expression  of  his  most  dominant  thought:  "  I 
can't  bear  to  be  separated  from  you."  Some  little  wince 
of  emotion  that  she  gave  supplied  the  courage  that  he 
needed,  and  words  came  now  with  a  rush.  "I  can't  lose 
you  after  this.  I  want  you  to  come  away  with  me  — 
leave  him.  I  will  make  you  a  home.  You  have  not  been 
happy.     I  will  make  you  happy." 

Abruptly  he  paused.  She  did  not  speak,  did  not  even 
turn  towards  him,  though  he  knew  now  that  she  was  not 
hostile.  "  We  must  tell  him,"  he  went  on.  "  He  will 
not  want  to  keep  you  if  he  has  lost  your  love;  then  when 
we  get  south  we  can  go  away  together."     As  an  after- 


152  THE    MAINLAND 

thought,  and  as  a  concession  to  what  he  imagined  the 
practical  needs  of  the  world,  "  I  know  I  haven't  much 
money,  but  I  can  make  it  I'm  sure." 

She  turned  to  him  now  very  serious.  "  Don't  say  any- 
thing to  him,  John.     He'd  never  let  me  go  I  know." 

"  But  if  you  don't  love  him  he  won't  want  to  keep  you 
with  him  against  your  will." 

"  No,  don't  say  anything.  You  don't  understand. 
Men  aren't  like  that."  Then  letting  her  glance  rest  on 
the  distant  ripples  of  the  sea,  "  John,  you  don't  know  what 
you  are  asking.  It's  such  a  risk.  I  knew,  of  course,  that 
you  had  been  thinking  this,  and  have  been  afraid.  I'm 
so  much  older  than  you,  and  although  I  have  money  you'd 
want  money  of  your  own,  and  you  don't  know  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  to  get.     You  know  nothing  of  the  world." 

"  I  know  that  I  know  nothing,"  said  John  with  pas- 
sionate warmth,  "  except  that  I  cannot  let  you  go  away 
from  me.  I  know  that  you  are  unhappy  and  that  you 
could  be  happy  with  me.  We  could  make  a  home  —  go 
anywhere,  anywhere  you  liked." 

Touched  by  his  enthusiasm  she  looked  almost  for- 
lornly at  him.  "  But  oh,  John,  I'm  so  dreadfully  much 
older  than  you  are." 

"  No,  not  much.  I'm  nineteen  and  you  look  as  young. 
Twenty-eight  isn't  so  much  difference.  It's  nothing,  why 
think  about  age?  " 

"  But  when  you  are  thirty  —  just  a  young  man  begin- 
ning life  —  I  shall  be  forty,  a  dreadful  age." 

"  You  won't  be.  You'll  grow  younger  than  I  am,  and 
it's  eleven  years  to  then.  Age  won't  matter  with  a  home 
and  children.  My  father  and  mother  are  much  older, 
and  they  are  happy." 


THE     MIRAGE  153 

Very  tenderly  she  now  looked  at  him.  "  Do  you  want 
children?     Why,  you  are  such  a  child  yourself." 

"  Yes,  I  want  your  children.  You  will  forget  my  being 
so  young  when  you  have  real  children  of  your  own." 

Her  eyes  suddenly  brimmed  with  tears,  and  putting 
out  a  hand  she  pulled  him  towards  her,  while  her  face 
puckered  curiously  with  emotion.  "  Kiss  me,"  she 
whispered.     "  Hold  me  close  to  you  —  closer." 

The  ardour  of  his  youth  she  returned  with  kisses  so 
passionate  that  he  was  bewildered  with  joy.  All  restraint 
was  gone;  body  and  soul  were  close  and  pulsing  to  his 
own.  In  her  eyes  was  all  her  love.  Through  them  he 
could  see  that  her  soul  was  opening  to  receive  all  the  hope 
of  his  desires.  When  the  flood  of  her  emotion  was  spent 
she  lay  still  in  his  embrace,  then  stiffened  herself.  "  Let 
me  go!  Let  me  go!  "  Very  gently  he  now  touched  her, 
afraid  that  by  his  roughness  he  might  have  hurt  some 
delicacy  in  her  nature.  For  a  moment  she  lay,  looking 
at  him  with  tears  running  down  her  cheeks,  then,  turning 
over  and  hiding  her  face  in  the  grass,  she  wept.  Long 
sobs  shook  her  body,  as  if  her  sorrow  was  too  great  to  be 
contained  therein  and  must  tear  itself  free.  Slowly  they 
subsided,  and  she  lay  almost  motionless,  a  pale  figure  in 
the  dark  twilight  under  the  leaves.  John  was  awed  and 
a  little  frightened,  begging  her  to  forgive  him  if  unwit- 
tingly he  had  hurt  her.  For  answer  she  clasped  her 
fingers  upon  his  hand,  holding  it  very  tight. 

11 

On  the  short  days  that  remained  before  the  sailing, 
Mrs.  Cray  and  John  met  morning  and  evening.  In  these 
times  of  mutual  worship  and  happiness  hope  conquered. 


154  THE    MAINLAND 

The  future  was  a  world  flooded  with  rose-coloured  sun- 
shine, open  to  discovery,  and  even  Mrs.  Cray  was  able,  be- 
fore the  blaze  of  John's  enthusiasm,  to  banish  those  stupid 
prudences  which  from  time  to  time  flitted  across  her  brain. 

The  one  flaw  in  John's  happiness  was  that  he  was  not 
allowed  to  tell  Cray.  He  wished  to  have  things  open, 
seeing  no  reason  to  prevent  a  dignified  parting.  Surely 
Cray,  who  was  so  reasonable  in  all  things,  would  not 
oppose  their  happiness  nor  wish  to  keep  in  bondage  one 
who  no  longer  loved  him.  But  on  this  point  Mrs.  Cray 
was  very  definite,  making  him  promise  to  say  no  word. 
Her  husband  would  never  let  her  go,  she  said.  Too  much 
of  the  past  would  bind  them.  A  break  against  her  hus- 
band's will  would  not  be  possible;  he  would  never  let 
her  go.  She  told  John  that  since  they  were  now  pledged 
to  one  another  they  had  better  leave  secretly  when  they 
reached  the  mainland.  Cray  would  not  follow,  he  would 
be  too  proud.  She  did  not  think  he  would  miss  her  much 
when  she  was  gone,  he  would  always  have  his  own  in- 
terests, but  an  open  break  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  In 
time  he  might  perhaps  forgive  them;  he  was  generous, 
that  she  fully  endorsed,  but  it  would  be  quite  impossible 
to  go  away  with  John  openly.  The  very  idea  made  her 
smile. 

What  the  world  would  think  of  so  unusual  a  venture 
did  not  disturb  her  often.  Her  world  was  far  away. 
The  colonials  they  would  live  among  would  know  nothing 
of  their  past.  They  would  pass  as  an  ordinary  couple. 
She  was  still  young,  ready  to  start  life  and  face  hardships. 
John  would  grow  into  a  man  and  would  succeed.  With 
him  a  normal  life  would  open  out;  a  home  and  children, 
and   oh!    she   believed,    a    rich   contentment.     The   very 


THE     MIRAGE  155 

prospect  of  escape  from  Cray's  cold  intelligence  warmed 
her.  As  for  money,  she  had  enough  in  her  own  right  to 
keep  them  safe. 

So  through  hours  of  happiness  the  dream  grew  in  form 
and  colour.  Each  day  brought  them  nearer  to  each  other. 
John  grew  older,  more  of  a  man,  and  she  deferring  to 
his  lead  became  younger.  Many  hours  of  freedom  they 
spent  together,  yet  remained  unmated.  The  tenderness 
of  his  love  ruled  his  passion.  He  wanted  her  free,  himself 
to  be  free  also,  his  own  master. 

m 

The  pearl-fishing  came  to  an  end  with  the  exhaustion 
of  the  shallow-water  beds,  and  the  last  days  on  the  island 
were  spent  in  leisurely  striking  camp  and  in  general  re- 
laxation. Cray  alone  continued  to  work  hard.  These 
extra  days  he  was  staying  on  for  the  purpose  of  complet- 
ing his  study  of  the  natives.  Early  and  late  he  was  at 
his  notes,  spending  long  hours  of  each  day  in  the  native 
camp.  He  seemed  oblivious  of  all  but  the  deep  secrets 
of  Totemism  and  class-marriage. 

During  this  time  of  comparative  idleness  Peter  Trigg 
made  progress  towards  the  attainment  of  his  desire. 
Julep  gradually  fell  under  his  influence,  imbibing  some 
of  his  hostility  towards  Cray.  The  separate  camp  that 
they  made  with  their  black  girls  and  Bella  was  so  different 
in  atmosphere  and  conversation  from  the  camp  on  the 
headland  that  they  came  to  look  upon  the  other  with 
resentment.  If  they  were  satisfied  with  such  unadorned 
simplicity  it  was  snobbish  of  Cray  to  live  by  other 
standards. 

Trigg  was  careful  to  propound  no  plan  as  yet;  there 


156  THE     MAINLAND 

was  merely  an  open  understanding  that  he  and  Julep 
were  to  have  a  good  share  in  the  pearls.  He  hinted  that 
those  in  the  safe  might  fall  to  their  portion,  leaving  Cray 
with  his  cutters-hold  of  shell.  This  much  alone  was 
definite  that  at  Kaimera,  or  earlier,  they  must  slip  off 
with  their  takings  and  strike  inland  far  from  pursuit. 
About  that  they  need  not  be  very  anxious,  Trigg  remark- 
ing that  any  fuss  made  would  show  Cray  up  for  breaking 
the  law  in  the  first  place. 

Meanwhile  a  double  game  had  to  be  played  with  Bella. 
Trigg  pretended  that  he  and  Julep  were  going  separately 
in  his  canoe  and  could  take  her  with  them.  This  kept 
her  quiet  and  obedient  to  his  wishes.  His  true  intention 
was  to  give  her  over  to  certain  blacks,  paying  them  with 
his  canoe  for  keeping  her  quiet  when  The  Venture  sailed. 
Such  primitive  children  of  nature  as  Bella  and  Julep  were 
easily  managed,  indeed  they  assisted  him  by  being  so 
much  occupied  with  each  other.  He  was  confident  of 
success. 

Tea-cup  alone  was  suspicious  always.  He  hated 
Trigg,  who,  well  aware  of  his  hatred,  returned  it  with 
contempt,  never  losing  an  opportunity  of  administering 
hit  or  kick. 

As  time  drew  near  for  departure  John  and  Mrs.  Cray, 
in  spite  of  being  filled  with  eagerness  for  the  future,  felt 
regret  at  leaving  scenes  where  such  happiness  had,  as  it 
were,  shyly  against  its  will,  revealed  itself.  There  were 
the  places  where  they  had  met,  rich  with  significance  of 
their  progress.  To  bid  farewell  to  these  was,  in  a  way, 
a  gladness,  for  they  knew  that  nothing  can  ever  be  repeated. 


THE     MIRAGE  157 

Life  was  too  strong  for  them  to  value  the  past  for  its  own 
sake,  yet  the  past  had  led  to  the  present,  and  for  that  they 
were  grateful.  On  the  last  day  they  both  wished  to  say 
farewell  to  the  island  together. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  dark  grove  of  fig-trees  —  their 
usual  meeting-place  —  they  set  out  to  climb  to  the  highest 
point  of  the  central  range.  Their  way  led  at  first  among 
guava  bushes  and  through  long  grasses,  which  arched 
above  their  heads.  John  went  first,  striking  a  path  out 
with  a  stick.  Mrs.  Cray  followed,  stooping  under  the 
grasses,  not  speaking,  but  enjoying  the  silence  and  their 
solitude  together.  Once  they  stopped  and  laughed  to 
one  another  while  John  brushed  the  sweat  out  of  his  eyes. 
As  they  reached  higher  ground,  the  grass  gave  place  to 
dark-leaved  jungle-undergrowth.  Here  they  were  glad 
to  rest  in  the  shade  for  a  while.  Higher  up  near  the 
summit  they  came  to  grass  again,  this  time  not  so  tall, 
though  reaching  waist-high,  and  covering  the  curved 
domes  of  the  hills  like  a  garment. 

At  the  top  they  halted.  John  had  been  helping  her 
up  the  steep  slope,  and  still  held  her  hand.  Beneath 
them  the  island  lay  silent  as  if  gently  breathing  in  the 
warm  sunlight.  Every  tint  was  there,  from  the  deep 
blue-black  of  forest  trees  to  the  palest  yellow  of  dry  sand- 
dunes.  Like  a  live  creature  eternally  still,  waiting 
crouched,  intent,  full  of  purpose,  or  in  other  places  spraw- 
ling negligently,  but  always  motionless,  the  land,  alive  and 
warm,  seemed  to  wait  on  some  command,  or  perhaps  only 
on  its  own  whim,  for  the  moment  when  it  should  rouse  and 
shake  itself,  sending  the  trees  scattering  before  its  strength. 
Yet  the  moments  passed,  and  it  remained  silent,  without  a 
twitch  or  a  tremor,  too  heavy  for  even  its  vast  fecundity  to 


158  THE     MAINLAND 

stir.  In  front  of  them,  whichever  way  they  looked,  was 
the  ocean,  dead  blue,  opaque,  climbing  to  the  steep  of  the 
horizon.  To  the  east  far  distant  was  a  broken  arc  of 
islands,  high  hill-tops  which  inclosed  the  waters  between, 
as  a  frame  some  mirror  whose  surface  age  has  deadened, 
making  dim  the  fleeting,  half-seen  reflections.  Such  inti- 
mations of  nascent  forms  glimmered  over  the  dull  weight  of 
the  sea,  as  puffs  of  wind  stirred  the  calm  of  its  surface. 
Elsewhere,  scattered  to  north  and  south,  were  other  islands, 
floating  lightly  on  the  water,  casting  faint  shadows. 

They  gazed  for  a  while  without  speaking,  thrilled  and 
alive  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  John  at  last  broke  the 
silence.  "  What  a  wonderful  place  the  world  is,"  he 
said  with  heartfelt  reverence,  "  and  how  beautiful." 

"  Yes,  I  have  never  known  how  beautiful  till  now.  I 
am  so  glad  of  you,  that  I  am  afraid.  Don't  let  us  look 
for  too  long.  It  is  perfect.  Let  us  go  lower  down  and 
rest  in  the  shade." 

He  understood  her  mood,  though  was  rather  inclined 
to  smile  at  her  fear  while  pitying  it,  knowing  how  much 
she  had  been  disappointed. 

"  I  could  stay  here  for  hours  and  watch  the  sun  set," 
he  answered.  "  Let  us  go  down  to  the  shade  a  little  way 
and  then  climb  up  again  later." 

Lower  down  under  the  trees  they  sat  and  talked.  After 
a  while  they  came  to  realize  that  this  would  be  their  last 
opportunity  of  undisturbed  conversation  until  that  hoped- 
for  time  when  they  would  be  free  together.  It  was  now 
that  they  must  make  all  their  plans. 

"  John,  I  want  us  to  go  south.  I  don't  want  to  live 
here  in  the  tropics.  In  the  south  there  are  wonderful  for- 
ests, cool,  with  huge  ferns  and  tree-stems  twenty  feet  wide 


THE     MIRAGE  159 

and  ever  so  tall.  Near  Kaimera  it  is  all  baked  sand  and 
such  ugly  white  people.  Up  here  it  is  too  hot  and  no 
place  to  live.     Let  us  go  south." 

"Where  to?"  he  asked. 

"  Down  near  Hastytown  or  on  the  Marget  river.  We 
stopped  there  coming  up,  it  was  beautiful.  We  can  get 
steamer  from  Kaimera  to  Leith  and  then  go  by  train  and 
coach." 

"  Yes,  we  must  leave  at  Kaimera,  if  not  before,"  he 
said  thoughtfully. 

She    carried   on   the   thought,    planning   their    escape. 

"  Our  first  stop  will  be  to  take  Tea-cup  back.  But  there 
the  natives  would  soon  know  all  about  us.  We  must  go 
at  Kaimera  or  before;  before  if  possible,  where  you  are 
not  known." 

He  broke  in.     "  I  do  wish  we  could  tell  your  husband!  " 

"  But,  John,  I  know  it  would  then  be  impossible,  he 
would  never  let  me  go." 

'  We  could  go  in  spite  of  him,  he  couldn't  actually 
prevent  us." 

For  a  moment  she  looked  distressed,  then  said  with  a 
smile,  "  Yes,  I  could  come  now,  I  know.  I  would  go 
with  you  anywhere.  But  if  we  told  him  there'd  be  a 
scene;  he'd  be  sarcastic.  I  would  go  with  you,  but  don't 
make  it  too  hard." 

"  It  makes  me  feel  mean,  this  concealment,"  com- 
plained John. 

"  I  know,  but  it  can't  be  helped,  the  other  is  worse. 
We  will  write  explaining  everything.  It  will  not  be  so 
hard  for  him  that  way.  His  vanity  will  be  hurt.  But, 
John!  I've  had  years  of  him.  I  can't  go  back  to  it  after 
this.     I  want  life  too.     He  never  let  me  live "     She 


160  THE     MAINLAND 

broke  off  for  a  moment  in  distress,  then:  "It's  bad 
enough  to  think  how  his  pride  will  take  it  when  he  finds 
we  are  gone,  but  I  couldn't  face  the  agony  before.  .  .  . 
Yes,  I  could  if  it  was  necessary.  Help  me  at  first.  For 
so  long  I've  lived  just  following  him,  shut  off.  .  .  ." 

He  looked  puzzled,  half  understanding.  "  Why  didn't 
you  leave  him?  " 

"  I  haven't  courage  for  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Not  for  attacking  things?  " 

"  No."  She  shook  her  head  sorrowfully.  "  I  hate 
scenes." 

"  When  you  are  free  you  will  be  happy  and  get  brave." 

She  smiled,  part  in  encouragement  of  herself,  part  at 
his  boyish  seriousness.  Then  breaking  the  thread  of  their 
discourse  with  a  return  to  the  practical :  "  Once  on  board, 
we  had  better  not  talk  much  together,  or  try  to  talk.  It 
will  be  better  so.  I  hate  whispers;  small  concealments  are 
vulgar.  And  when  Tea-cup  goes  ashore  we  will  not  land; 
the  natives  watch  everything.  Near  Kaimera  we  will  go. 
We  must  be  very  sensible  not  romantic;  if  he  stops  at  some 
little  station  we  will  land  there  and  wait  till  he  has  gone, 
then  take  ship  southward." 

John  flushed  with  happiness  at  the  thought  of  the  voy- 
age together.  "  Of  course  there  may  be  some  difficulty 
about  getting  off,  but  we  will  manage  it.  I  know  we 
shall.  Leave  all  that  to  me.  You  can  be  confident  — 
we  shall  succeed."  His  eyes  were  bright  with  enthusiasm 
as  he  looked  at  her. 

Very  seriously  she  looked  back.  "  Yes,  we  shall  suc- 
ceed. At  first  I  had  so  many  doubts,  now  I  am  confident. 
This  is  not  madness  as  the  world  would  think  it.  It  is  the 
beginning  of  sanity.     That  sterile,  barren  life  was  not 


THE     MIRAGE  161 

life  —  this  is  the  beginning.  You  are  my  man;  I  am  your 
woman.  I  have  never  before  meant  anything  so  seriously 
as  I  mean  this.  I  will  go  with  you  anywhere  you  wish. 
You  are  my  husband."  Her  face  was  white  with  emotion, 
and  John  was  silent  with  reverence  for  the  sincere  piety 
of  her  sudden  declaration.  Henceforward  he  could  in- 
deed be  sure  of  her.  He  took  her  hand,  holding  it  for  a 
while  without  speaking,  then  said  in  almost  a  whisper, 
"  I  will  love  you  always.  You  shall  never  have  any  re- 
grets." 

Before  returning  to  camp  they  walked  again  to  the 
summit  of  the  curved  grass-covered  hill  and  from  there 
watched  the  sun  sink  below  the  horizon.  The  ocean  had 
now  changed  from  dead  blue  to  live  crimsons  and  yellows, 
streaked  and  bordered  by  ribands  of  green.  The  hills 
to  the  eastward  had  disappeared  in  mist,  and  the  scattered 
islands  on  the  west  now  appeared  as  solid  black  rocks,  part 
structure  of  the  ocean-bed,  which  jutted  up  through  the 
glassy  water.  The  air  was  still,  with  scarce  a  breath. 
The  only  sound  piercing  the  silence  was  the  irregular 
and  plaintive  whistle  of  some  bird  in  the  jungle  be- 
low. 

v 

Throughout  the  night,  though  fearful,  as  are  all  sav- 
ages of  solitude  and  darkness,  Tea-cup  remained  alone 
in  the  jungle.  The  importance  of  his  task,  strengthened 
by  love  and  hate,  was  so  urgent  that  even  the  fears  of 
darkness  could  be  braved.  In  the  midst  of  thick  under- 
growth he  squatted  close  to  the  ground.  In  front  of 
him,  stuck  endwise  in  the  earth,  was  the  hollowed  out 


162  THE    MAINLAND 

thigh  bone  of  a  wallaby.  Into  the  cavity  of  the  bone 
he  poured  in  an  even  voice  a  methodical  and  unceasing 
stream  of  curses.  With  face  bent  low,  forehead  lined 
with  savage  wrinkles,  mouth  open  and  lips  writhing  in 
the  flood  of  his  imprecation,  he  cursed  his  enemy,  cursing 
every  organ  and  fragment  of  his  body  from  his  crown  to 
his  finger-nails.  His  eyes  were  to  go  blind  and  burn  him 
like  coals,  his  tongue  was  to  swell,  his  teeth  were  to  fall 
out,  his  stomach  was  to  get  hard,  his  throat  was  to  dry, 
his  feet  were  to  be  eaten  with  lice,  his  toes  were  to  canker, 
his  bones  were  to  ache,  his  heart  was  to  burst,  his  kidneys 
were  to  wither,  his  skin  was  to  be  covered  with  sores,  his 
brain  be  infected  with  madness.  Then  he  cursed  every- 
thing that  his  enemy  should  eat.  Meat  was  to  stick  in 
his  throat,  bread  was  to  burst  his  stomach,  fish  to  become 
putrid  between  his  lips,  the  flesh  of  birds  to  poison  him, 
tea  and  milk  to  fill  him  with  dropsy,  whisky  to  drive  him 
mad.  Then  he  cursed  everything  that  his  enemy  might 
touch.  Trees  were  to  bend  their  thorns  against  him, 
dogs  were  to  bite  him,  snakes  were  to  poison  him,  every- 
thing living  was  to  turn  against  him  for  evil.  When 
Tea-cup  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  imagination  he  went 
through  the  whole  curse  again  from  the  beginning. 

For  more  than  two  hours  he  sat  over  his  bone,  filling 
it  with  all  evil  imaginings.  At  last,  when  he  considered 
that  he  had  sufficient  bad-magic  accumulated,  he  very 
carefully  tied  a  pair  of  shoes,  that  he  had  made  of  emus' 
feathers,  upon  his  feet  that  his  track  might  not  be  known. 
Cautiously  he  now  made  his  way  to  Trigg's  camp  and  as 
silently,  as  only  a  native  can,  made  his  way  among  the 
sleeping  women.  To  his  anger  and  surprise  Trigg  was 
not  there.     On  this  discovery  Tea-cup  paused  for  a  mo- 


THEMIRAGE  163 

ment  uncertain,  then  placed  the  bone  under  Trigg's  pillow. 
After  that  he  vanished  again  into  the  bush. 

Having  done  thus  far  all  that  was  in  his  power  against 
his  enemy,  his  duty  now  was  to  see  what  that  enemy 
was  about.  He  guessed  that  Trigg  might  be  at  the  place 
where  his  own  black-fellows  slept,  and  set  off  in  that  direc- 
tion. In  this  surmise  he  was  correct.  At  the  camp  a 
small  fire  was  burning,  and  round  about  it  sat  Trigg  and 
three  of  the  older  men  of  his  party.  They  spoke  in 
native,  and  Tea-cup  listened  unobserved.  He  heard 
Trigg  arrange  that  two  of  them  should  catch  Bella,  gag 
her,  and  carry  her  off  into  the  bush.  In  the  morning,  he 
said,  he  was  going  away  with  the  other  white  men  in 
the  cutter.  He  would  be  away  on  a  short  journey,  and 
while  he  was  away  they  could  have  the  use  of  his  canoe. 
They  were  not  to  let  Bella  follow  him  or  make  any  noise. 
If  they  let  her  escape  he  would  come  back  very  angry 
and  kill  them.  All  this  Tea-cup  heard,  but  it  didn't  much 
interest  him.  Trigg's  dealings  with  his  women  might 
be  shady,  but  for  that  particular  half-caste  girl  he  had 
no  thoughts  and  certainly  no  sentiments  concerning  fair 
play.  Trigg  went  on  to  say  that  he  would  bring  Bella 
to  where  the  blacks  would  be  waiting  for  her  early  in  the 
morning,  and  that  then  he  would  go  down  to  the  boat  and 
sail  away.  They  were  to  make  sure  of  catching  her,  re- 
membering that  she  was  quick,  and  again  he  added,  "  See 
that  she  makes  no  noise." 

Although  in  all  this  talk  Tea-cup  had  heard  nothing 
that  threatened  Cray,  he  now  suspected  Trigg  more  than 
ever.  He  saw  him  as  a  ruthless  scoundrel,  one  against 
whom  his  master  must  be  warned  before  it  was  too  late. 
Again  he  made  off  through  the  bush,  arriving  at  Cray's 


164  THE     MAINLAND 

camp  just  as  dawn  was  breaking.  Silently  he  entered  the 
tent  and  timidly  touched  Cray's  foot.  Cray  opened  his 
eyes,  awake  at  once.  Tea-cup  put  his  fingers  on  his  lips, 
signalling  to  be  silent,  then  backed  out  of  the  tent. 

Cray  got  out  of  bed,  then  followed,  amused  and  won- 
dering. "Well,  what  is  it?  "  he  asked  when  they  were 
outside. 

'  That  one  Trigg  bad  fellow,  damn  bad  fellow,"  began 
Tea-cup. 

"  Yes." 

"Bad  fellow!  We  go  along  o'  Venture.  Leave  him 
stay  here." 

Cray  smiled  at  the  simple  plan.  "  But  I've  said  I'll 
take  him  with  me." 

"  No  matter,  him  bad  fellow,  better  stay  here." 

"  All  right,  Tea-cup.  I'll  watch  him.  I  know  he's  up 
to  something.  You  watch  him  too."  Then  laughing, 
'  We  two  plenty  good  enough  for  fellow  like  Trigg." 

Tea-cup  grinned.     "  By  and  by  I  go  away." 

'  Yes,  then  I  can  look  after  him  by  myself.  I'm  not 
frightened  fellow.  By  and  by  Trigg  frightened  fellow, 
I  think." 

Tea-cup  continued  to  grin.  He  was  assured  that  his 
master  was,  at  any  rate,  conscious  of  possible  danger. 
Cray  was  amused,  very  confident.  "  Good  thing  you  wake 
me  early,  Tea-cup.  Plenty  much  to  do.  You  help  me 
pack  my  bed,  pull  down  tent." 

Together  they  set  about  striking  camp,  both  in  good 
humour  over  their  morning's  confidence. 


THE    MIRAGE  165 

VI 

Both  at  the  camp  on  the  promontory  and  the  camp 
further  inland  there  was  great  stir.  The  natives  buzzed 
round  in  swarms  anxious  for  pickings.  Cray  gave  many 
presents  with  an  unusual  generosity,  and  Trigg  and 
Julep  also  disposed  of  all  the  small  things  that  now  they 
would  no  longer  need.  At  the  last,  when  it  came  to 
bidding  farewell,  the  black  women  parted  from  their 
lords  and  masters  very  philosophically.  John  noticed 
that  Bella  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  rather  wondered 
what  had  become  of  her.  He  was,  however,  so  occupied 
with  his  own  schemes  that  the  thought  was  only  in  his 
mind  for  a  few  moments.  It  was  recalled  when,  an  hour 
later,  well  out  to  sea,  he  chanced  to  overhear  a  fragment 
of  conversation.  Trigg  had  remarked  that  he  took  good 
care  not  to  have  melodrama  with  the  girl  swimming  out 
after  the  boat  or  making  a  damned  noise.  Julep  had 
merely  spat  into  the  sea  rather  emphatically,  and  said, 
"  Poor  little  beast,"  though  his  whole  attitude  and  ex- 
pression showed  for  a  moment  a  certain  commiseration. 
This  was  the  last  mention  that  was  made  of  Bella,  and 
it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  one  would  be  much 
concerned  as  to  her  fate. 

Once  at  sea,  The  Venture  headed  southwest,  home- 
wards, towards  Garlip.  The  journey  which,  on  the  way 
out,  had  been  so  full  of  detours,  was  now  the  directest 
line.  Cray  wished  to  make  all  speed,  since  he  had  left  the 
season  late,  and  was  afraid  of  being  caught  in  a  Willy- 
Willy.  The  wind  was  variable  from  the  east,  so  that  they 
had  to  beat,  but  were  usually  able  to  make  a  long  run  on 
the  port  tack. 


166  THE    MAINLAND 

The  change  of  life  from  land  to  sea  affected  all  on 
board.  The  close  quarters  and  the  wide  stretch  of  mo- 
notonous sea  induced  a  restlessness.  The  like  condi- 
tions of  the  voyage  out  also  emphasized  the  different 
mental  atmosphere  that  now  prevailed.  There  was  only 
the  show  of  open  comradeship,  each  individual  living  an 
intense  and  intimate  life  in  his  own  thoughts.  Cray 
deeply  regretted  that  it  had  ever  been  his  luck  for  him 
to  fall  in  with  Trigg,  but  he  was  confident  that  he  had 
the  situation  in  hand.  He  was  fairly  sure  that  Trigg 
was  up  to  some  villainy  and  that  he  had  been  successful 
in  estranging  Julep.  John  he  could  rely  on  if  he  needed 
help,  but  feeling  quite  competent  to  deal  with  the  matter 
on  his  own  account  he  made  no  mention  of  it.  About 
Julep  he  was  worried,  for  he  disliked  treachery.  Here  he 
was  willing  to  act  leniently,  believing  that  Julep  had 
been  led  almost  against  his  will  by  Trigg's  stronger 
personality.  For  the  present  he  was  content  to  watch 
and  wait.  In  the  meanwhile  he  could  give  Trigg  no 
advantage  and  decided  not  to  land  at  Garlip,  but  merely 
to  put  Tea-cup  ashore  in  the  dinghy.  He  guessed  that 
things  would  be  likely  to  come  to  a  head  near  Kaimera, 
where  he  would  have  to  be  careful,  since  he  did  not  wish 
to  have  any  fuss  in  the  port  itself.  The  more  completely 
Trigg  were  worsted  the  keener  would  he  be  to  turn  in- 
former. It  would  be  best,  Cray  thought,  to  put  in  some 
twelve  miles  to  the  north,  this  would  be  within  tempting 
walking  distance,  and  the  situation  would  be  likely  to 
develop.  Should  nothing  happen,  he  would  land  Trigg 
a  little  further  up  the  coast,  then  run  for  Kaimera  before 
any  information  could  be  given.  This  plan,  so  simple 
and  effective,  did  not  much  occupy  his  mind,  and  such 


THE     MIRAGE  167 

times  as  he  was  not  directing  the  course  of  the  boat,  he 
sat  in  the  cabin  writing  up  his  notes  on  the  aborigines. 

Julep's  mind  was  by  no  means  so  untroubled.  He  was 
uncomfortable  about  the  agreement  with  Trigg.  Still, 
he  had  pledged  himself.  Some  of  the  pearls  were  his, 
and,  considering  how  hard  he  had  worked,  he  thought 
himself  entitled  certainly  to  more  than  a  tenth.  Before 
they  set  sail  he  had  tried  to  extract  from  Trigg  some 
details  of  his  plans,  but  all  he  could  hear  was  that  if  they 
stopped  near  any  settlement  Trigg  would  manage  to  get 
hold  of  some  of  the  pearls,  and  that  then  they  would  get 
clear  of  the  cutter  and  make  away  inland. 

As  to  John  and  Mrs.  Cray,  they  were  oblivious  to  all 
thoughts  that  did  not  concern  each  other.  At  the  first 
opportunity  they  too  would  make  their  escape.  That 
event  loomed  as  all-important.  The  very  imagining  of 
so  critical  a  time  making  them  breathe  quick  in  hope  and 
fear. 

At  Garlip  Tea-cup  was  landed,  Cray  sending  him  back 
to  his  fellow-tribesmen  laden  with  presents  of  tobacco, 
pipes,  blankets,  cloth,  everything  that  a  native's  heart 
can  desire.  There  was  more  than  he  could  carry  at  once, 
a  dinghy  full  of  his  possessions,  including  an  English 
knife,  most  cherished  of  all.  His  delight  was  beyond  ex- 
pression, and  at  bidding  farewell  he  wept  tears  of  both 
joy  and  grief.  Cray,  in  his  own  dignified  way,  shared  a 
reflection  of  this  pleasure.  It  was  pleasant  to  appear  as  a 
generous  deity.  He  had  a  conscious  pride  in  his  actions, 
and  those  mortals  who  ministered  to  his  greatness  he  re- 
warded adequately. 

Of  all  this  Trigg  was  openly  scornful.  He  hated  Cray 
for  his  damned  superior  ways.     What  need,  he  thought, 


168  THEMAINLAND 

to  make  such  a  fuss  over  a  savage,  a  damned  smelly  black 
man,  who  should  have  been  kicked  and  kept  in  his  place. 
He  regretted  that  he  couldn't  give  Tea-cup  a  parting 
jab  with  a  marlinespike,  make  him  grin  after  another 
fashion.  As  it  was,  he  could  only  express  by  silence  and 
his  general  attitude  of  bored  contempt  the  scorn  he  felt 
for  such  sentimental  nonsense.  He  was  glad  though  to 
see  the  last  of  the  black,  for  he  knew  now  he  was  free  of 
an  enemy  quicker  of  sight  and  hearing  than  he  was  him- 
self; an  enemy  too  who  would  think  as  little  of  murder 
if  the  occasion  should  offer. 

After  leaving  Garlip,  The  Venture  stood  well  out  to 
sea,  making  a  line  for  the  North-West  Cape.  Land  was 
soon  left  behind,  and  on  all  sides  blue  sparkling  waves 
rose  and  fell,  passing  on  with  careless  indifference  to  the 
tight-stretched  motives  which  grew  always  more  intense 
in  the  small  confines  of  the  cutter.  In  so  limited  a  space 
private  conversation  between  two  people  was  only  possible 
on  rare  occasions,  then  perhaps  words  might  be  hurriedly 
spoken;  but  for  the  most  part  few  confidences  were  ex- 
changed. They  all  waited  with  silent  expectancy  the 
next  landing. 

Mrs.  Cray  and  John  had  no  suspicion  of  Trigg  and 
Julep.  They  thought  only  of  their  own  adventure,  having 
no  idea  that  there  grew  up  another  plot  parallel  with  their 
own.  The  daily  sight  of  Mrs.  Cray  was  for  John  suffi- 
cient recompense  for  the  enforced  silence.  Her  quiet  dig- 
nity of  manner,  the  soft  yet  firm  quality  of  her  person- 
ality, the  trust  he  had  in  her,  and  the  thought  that  by 
some  rare  fortune  he  was  able  to  bring  happiness  to  her 
life  filled  him  with  such  feeling  of  warmth  and  courage 
that  no  ordeal   seemed  too  hard  to  be  suffered.     That 


THE    MIRAGE  169 

he  could  feel  that  she  was  glad  of  him  was  itself  a  joy 
more  great  than  he  had  ever  imagined.  Their  silent 
intercourse  —  a  glance  sometimes,  or  merely  the  unspoken 
praise  and  thanksgiving  for  her  near  presence  —  was  a 
sufficient  delight.  He  loved  their  silences,  holding  them 
as  trembling,  eager  birds  captive  in  his  hands,  which  in 
so  short  a  while  would  be  loosed  to  fly  straight  up  to 
heaven,  lit  with  all  the  radiance  of  a  morning  sun. 

Of  the  others  he  had  little  thought.  They  also  were 
oblivious  to  his  life,  intent  on  their  own  interests.  Cray 
had  kept  his  doubts  to  himself,  but  watched  Trigg  nar- 
rowly. Concerning  his  wife  he  had  no  suspicions.  Cer- 
tainly, he  had  noticed  that  there  was  something  strange 
about  her  manner,  but  this  he  put  down  to  the  heat  and 
perhaps  a  weariness  of  the  island  and  sea  life.  He  de- 
cided that  he  would  take  her  to  Paris  for  some  months, 
perhaps  spend  the  northern  summer  at  Fountainebleau. 
John  too  was  somewhat  altered.  Cray  guessed  that  it 
might  be  excitement  at  the  prospect  of  so  soon  returning  to 
the  mainland.  Any  suspicions  that  he  might  have  con- 
cerning Trigg  he  was  not  going  to  let  worry  him.  The 
ideal  freshness  of  the  journey  south  was  unspoilt.  He 
alone  of  all  on  board  fully  enjoyed  all  the  small  emer- 
gencies of  the  voyage.  This  wonderful  movement  over  the 
globe  —  the  leaving  of  one  place  still  full  of  interest  to 
find  another  yet  more  interesting  —  was  what  his  soul 
loved.  Every  day  and  every  hour  of  the  day  the  ocean, 
seemingly  the  same,  was  varied  with  slight  changes.  The 
colours  changed  with  the  changing  sky,  and  a  different 
saltness  was  in  the  breeze.  Each  day,  after  taking  his 
bearings,  when  he  pricked  off  his  position  on  the  chart,  it 
gave  him  pleasure.     It  gave  an  intimacy,  a  familiarity 


i7o  THE    MAINLAND 

with  earth  and  sea.  Plans  he  made  only  of  the  broadest 
outlines;  he  seldom  anticipated  details,  confident  in  the 
future.  Now  he  was  content  to  wait,  feeling  that  when 
the  occasion  came  he  would  be  able  to  meet  Trigg  with 
strategy  better  than  his  own. 

After  they  had  turned  the  North-West  Cape  he  steered 
southward,  hugging  the  land.  He  now  began  to  watch 
Trigg  closely,  feeling  sure  that  the  fellow  was  up  to 
something.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  discovered  that 
Trigg  hated  him.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  hatred, 
now  that  he  had  once  seen  it.  It  was  of  the  kind  that 
would  not  stop  at  murder.  A  thrill  of  excitement  gave 
him  a  pleasant  feeling  of  anticipation  for  their  coming 
contest.  Yes,  he  would  lie  up  twelve  or  fifteen  miles 
north  of  Kaimera,  and  then  wait  developments. 

After  ten  days'  sailing  from  Garlip  they  sighted  Cape 
Cuvier,  and  knew  that  they  could  make  Kaimera  that 
evening.  With  the  knowledge  that  they  were  so  near 
their  destination  there  burnt  up  an  intense  excitement 
which  they  each  endeavoured  to  conceal.  Mrs.  Cray  felt 
the  sudden  strain  more  than  any  of  the  others,  and  al- 
though she  kept  absolute  control  she  had  a  look  as  if  her 
spirit  were  almost  burnt  out  and  smothered  under  the 
rigid  mask  of  her  passivity.  Once  she  had  time  to 
whisper  to  John  that  he  must  be  very  careful  as  she  had 
noticed  that  her  husband  suspected  something. 

When  Cray  announced  that  he  was  going  to  lie  up  for 
the  night  and  not  going  to  enter  Kaimera  till  the  morn- 
ing all  hearts  beat  faster.  This  was  just  what  they  had 
hoped.  It  had  always  seemed  possible  that  he  would 
prefer  to  wait  till  the  morning,  but  none  of  them  had 
dared  to  build  on  it.     Now  surety  had  suddenly  come. 


THE     MIRAGE  171 

John  and  Mrs.  Cray  dared  not  meet  each  other's  eyes, 
hardly  dared  speak  for  fear  of  betraying  the  emotion  of 
their  hearts. 

As  The  Venture  ran  in  towards  a  small  bay  there  ap- 
peared far  away  to  the  north  a  line  of  smoke.  This  grew 
larger,  and  they  could  soon  make  out  the  lines  of  one  of 
the  coastwise  passenger  steamers  that  plied  between 
Singapore  and  Leith.  Any  doubts  that  Trigg  had  about 
taking  action  were  banished.  He  would  get  the 
pearls  that  night,  and  at  the  same  time  make  sure  that 
he  was  never  bothered  by  any  pursuit.  He  would  then 
make  for  Kaimera,  catch  the  steamer  that,  he  knew,  would 
sail  at  dawn.  As  for  Julep,  he  would  settle  with  him 
later;  that  would  not  be  a  difficult  task. 

The  distant  steamer  on  her  voyage  southward  brought 
to  John  and  Mrs.  Cray  the  same  thought  of  flight. 
Providence  was  indeed  being  kind.  John  found  oppor- 
tunity to  whisper  that  he  would  manage  their  escape 
that  night.  She  looked  fearfully  at  him,  but  showed  by 
her  look  that  she  was  willing  to  follow  where  he  should 
lead. 

vn 

When  the  sails  had  been  furled  and  The  Venture  lay 
close  to  the  land  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  expecta- 
tion. They  were  all  disappointed  when  Cray  made  no 
preparation  for  going  ashore.  "  Are  you  going  to  land?  " 
asked  John,  showing  his  surprise. 

"  No,  why  should  I  ?  I  shall  land  at  Kaimera  tomor- 
row morning." 

"  I  thought  after  so  long  at  sea "  John  ventured. 

"  You  can  land  if  you  want  to  stretch  your  legs."  said 


172  THE    MAINLAND 

Cray  cheerfully.     "  There's  no  point  in  it,  but  you  can 
do  as  you  like." 

This  indeed  made  things  difficult;  John  had  counted 
on  a  general  landing  as  was  usual,  then  escape  could  have 
been  easy.  However,  he  was  screwed  to  the  pitch  now, 
meaning  to  join  the  steamer  at  whatever  price.  He  saw 
that  by  pretending  that  he  wanted  to  go  ashore  he  could 
at  any  rate  get  the  dinghy  unshipped  and  into  the  water. 
"  Very  well,  I'll  go,"  he  said  as  he  began  to  loosen  the 
ropes  that  held  the  dinghey.  He  didn't  dare  risk  the 
suggestion  that  Mrs.  Cray  should  come  with  him. 

His  expedition  was  not  a  long  one,  but  was  of  this  much 
service  that  he  found  the  ground  behind  the  sand-hills 
was  not  very  rough  or  broken,  also  that  there  was  a 
lightly  marked  track  leading  towards  Kaimera.  Once 
ashore  together,  then  all  would  be  easy.  When  he  re- 
turned to  The  Venture  he  fastened  the  dinghy,  letting 
her  float  astern. 

That  night,  as  if  by  common,  unspoken  consent,  they 
all  turned  in  early.  It  was  dark  and  calm.  The  boat  lay 
very  still.  John  had  pulled  his  bed  far  forward  into  the 
bows,  taking  the  place  that  Tea-cup  used  to  occupy. 
Forward  of  the  mast  Trigg  and  Julep  lay  wrapped 
in  their  blankets,  one  on  either  side  of  the  small  cook- 
house. Aft  of  the  mast  was  the  cabin  roof  which,  stand- 
ing two  and  a  half  feet  high,  cut  off  the  view  of  the  poop. 
Aft,  on  each  side  of  the  companion-way,  Cray  and  Mrs. 
Cray  lay  in  their  hammocks,  which  were  hung  between 
the  mainstays  and  the  bows.  Between,  the  boom  and  the 
sag  of  the  furled  sail  cut  them  off,  to  some  extent,  from 
each  other's  view.  Cray's  hammock  was  to  port,  Mrs. 
Cray's  to  starboard.     For  two  hours  all  lay  very  still. 


THE     MIRAGE  173 

No  one  slept,  each  waited  till  the  others  should  be  asleep. 

Cray  was  the  first  to  move.  Very  silently  he  got  out 
of  his  hammock,  then  carefully  arranged  his  pillows  and 
rugs  to  appear  as  if  he  was  still  lying  there.  Like  an 
indistinct  shadow  in  the  darkness  he  went  to  the  com- 
panion-way, and  then  down  into  the  cabin.  Mrs.  Cray 
saw  him  move,  and  her  mouth  became  dry  with  excite- 
ment. It  was  now  too  late  to  warn  John.  She  was 
terrified  that  her  husband  suspected  everything.  The 
three  men  forward  had  heard  not  a  sound.  They  still 
waited,  listening  under  the  silence  of  the  night. 

In  the  cabin  Cray  unlocked  a  drawer  and  took  out  his 
revolver.  He  did  not  expect  to  have  to  use  it.  He  hoped 
not,  as  violence  was  very  distasteful  to  his  educated  senses 
but  he  had  seen  a  look  in  Trigg's  eyes,  and  meant  to  be 
prepared  for  all  eventualities. 

Up  in  the  bows,  close  to  the  anchor-chain,  John  lay 
very  still.  He  was  not  going  to  spoil  things  by  being  in 
a  hurry.  He  would  wait  till  they  were  all  asleep.  It 
was  a  clear  night,  dark  without  a  moon.  He  lay  looking 
up  at  the  innumerable  stars.  The  promise  of  life  was 
very  big,  and  his  heart  beat  strongly  against  his  ribs  with 
love  and  hope.  The  world,  the  whole  universe,  was  even 
more  beautiful  than  it  had  appeared  to  his  earlier  youth 
on  Kanna  Island.  Adventure,  romance,  success,  all  were 
to  be  his.  He  loved  everything,  the  stars  so  distant  and 
remote  equally  with  the  tiny  waves  that  plashed  against 
the  bows  close  to  his  head.  In  the  immediate  crisis  he 
believed  in  his  fortune.  What  accidents  could  stand 
against  such  love  as  theirs?  She  had  told  him  that  she 
loved  him,  had  pledged  herself  with  no  uncertain  breath 
to  follow  wherever  he  should  lead.     He  had  never  asked 


174 


THE     MAINLAND 


for  that  assurance,  it  was  her  own  spontaneous  gift,  mak- 
ing him  doubly  sure.  He  could  even  now  feel  her  heart 
beat  in  warm  response  to  his  own.  Now  surely  they 
were  all  asleep.  Very  silently  he  climbed  over  the  star- 
board bow,  lowering  himself  into  the  water.  He  kept  on 
trousers  and  shirt,  and  had  to  be  very  careful  lest  the 
bubbles  should  betray  him.  The  water  was  cool  and 
delicious.  He  swam  silently  with  slow  deliberate  strokes 
towards  the  dinghy.  Mrs.  Cray  alone  heard  the  swirl 
of  the  water  as  he  passed. 

A  few  seconds  after  John  had  climbed  over  the  bows, 
Trigg  and  Julep  had  exchanged  whispers.  They  had 
not  seen  him,  nor  had  they  any  suspicion  of  his  move- 
ments, but  they  also  felt  that  the  moment  had  come 
when  all  the  others  must  be  asleep.  Trigg's  commands 
were  short  and  imperative.  For  the  work  he  had  to  do 
he  wanted  Julep  out  of  the  way.  After  a  moment's 
whispering  Julep,  who  was  on  the  port  side,  lowered 
himself  over  the  bulwark  into  the  water.  He  was  not 
quite  so  careful  about  the  bubbles  in  his  clothes  as  John 
had  been,  and  both  Cray  and  Mrs.  Cray  heard  a  faint 
sound.  By  this  time  John  was  beside  the  dinghy  and 
heard  nothing.  It  was  his  intention  to  get  Mrs.  Cray 
into  the  dinghy  but  to  remain  in  the  water  himself,  pushing 
it  silently  to  the  shore. 

When  Julep  was  overboard  working  his  way  down  the 
side  of  the  boat,  Trigg  pulled  out  from  among  his  blankets 
a  heavy  marlinespike,  then  crossing  to  port  he  crept 
along  behind  the  cabin  roof  towards  Cray's  hammock. 

As  soon  as  he  came  to  the  corner  by  the  companion- 
way  Mrs.  Cray  saw  him.  Trembling  with  fear  now,  she 
lay  still.    No  idea  of  his  motive  had  entered  her  head. 


THE     MIRAGE  175 

She  felt  that  his  action  was  all  somehow  connected  with 
her  intended  flight.  Slowly  Trigg  stood  upright,  looking 
round  with  fierce,  eager  eyes.  Everything  was  still. 
His  lithe  taut  figure  seemed  strung  to  savage  harmony 
with  the  malicious  and  suddenly  revealed  cruelty  of  the 
nig*ht.  The  wavelets  even,  plashing  against  the  side  of 
the  boat,  now  sounded  hollow  and  cold. 

Julep,  making  every  effort  to  be  silent,  worked  his  way 
along  the  cutter's  side.  When  he  came  to  the  stern  he 
was  surprised,  and,  in  his  present  nervous  state,  terrified 
to  see  the  dinghy  coming  towards  him  stern  first  im- 
pelled by  some  invisible  force.  Entirely  thrown  off  his 
mental  balance,  he  retreated  to  wait  events. 

On  deck  Trigg,  bending  his  head  like  some  suspicious 
and  wary  animal,  peered  across  the  deck  at  Mrs.  Cray, 
then  coming  a  step  forward  raised  the  marlinespike  with 
terrible  swiftness,  bringing  it  down  a  smashing  blow  on 
the  pillow,  on  which  he  supposed  Cray's  head  to  be  rest- 
ing. The  hammock  sprang  into  the  air  with  a  switching 
rebound.  In  its  unexpected  and  senseless  activity  there 
was  something  intensely  mocking.  From  that  one  out- 
rageous and  insulting  bound  it  subsided  to  feverish  jerks, 
a  few  petulant  trembles,  then  again  all  was  silent.  Mrs. 
Cray  had  leapt  up  in  her  hammock  and  now  sat  bolt  up- 
right, looking  at  Trigg  with  wide-open,  terrified  eyes. 

Neither  made  any  sound;  she  had  uttered  no  scream, 
not  even  an  oath  had  escaped  him.  In  silence  they 
regarded  each  other.  Trigg  under  his  immobility  was 
mad  with  rage.  He  would  kill,  kill,  kill,  damn  them  he 
was  not  going  to  be  tricked  like  that.  Mrs.  Cray  was 
rigid  in  her  fixed  position,  pale,  her  senses  stunned  by 
the    awfulness   of   his   intent.     Into    the    silence    John's 


176  THE    MAINLAND 

whisper  came  from  the  water,  eager  with  expectation 
"  Come  quick,  I  have  the  dinghy."  She  made  no  answer. 
"  Come,"  he  repeated.     "  Can  you  hear?  " 

Trigg,  his  face  now  convulsed  with  rage,  made  a  quick 
step,  and  leaning  forward  over  the  boom,  raised  the 
marlinespike.  Mrs.  Cray  uttered  a  faint  scream  as  she 
put  up  her  hands  against  the  blow.  The  sharp  crash  of  a 
revolver  shot  rang  out.  Trigg's  taut  figure  became  con- 
vulsed, he  tottered,  choked  and  fell.  The  marlinespike 
dropped  from  his  hand,  falling  close  beside  Mrs.  Cray. 

In  the  companion-way  Cray  stood,  revolver  in  hand. 
His  composure  had  for  once  left  him.  "  The  black- 
guard!    Did  he  hurt  you?  "  he  cried. 

She  was  very  pale,  but  held  her  composure  with  iron 
fortitude.     "No!     Oh,  Arthur!  "  she  gasped. 

With  a  step  he  was  by  her  side.  She  clasped  his  arm. 
On  the  deck  Trigg  gave  a  long  gasp,  then  stretched  and 
lay  still.  Cray,  now  gaining  control  over  his  first  wild 
excitement,  bent  over  him.  "  He's  dead,  I  think.  I  had 
to  make  sure,  he  was  so  close  to  you  ...  a  bullet  clean 
through  his  head."  He  spoke  now  as  if  apologizing  for 
his  violence.  "  I  never  thought  that  he'd  strike  at  you. 
...  I  didn't  want  to  shoot,  that's  why  I  waited.  There 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done."  Then  recollecting. 
"  Where's  Julep  ?     John !  "  he  shouted. 

From  either  side  of  the  boat  they  answered  him,  and 
began  to  climb  up  over  the  bulwarks.  Both  wondered  at 
the  shot,  each  was  filled  with  his  own  misgivings.  At  so 
strange  an  appearance  Cray's  anger  blazed  up.  "  What 
the  hell  are  you  doing  there?  Julep,  Sherwin,  are  you 
both  in  it?  "  Then  to  his  wife,  "  Get  my  lanthorn  from 
the  cabin,  quick." 


THE     MIRAGE  177 

"  In  what?  "  asked  John  as  he  pulled  himself  up  by  a 
stay  and  stood  upright. 

"You  should  know  better  than  I  do!  Some  damned 
rascality.  Trigg  tried  to  murder  me  in  my  sleep,  then 
nearly  killed  my  wife,  would  have  done  if  I  hadn't  shot 
him." 

"Trigg  tried  to  kill  her?"  said  John  incredulously 
with  a  convincing  astonishment.  "  No,  I  know  nothing 
of  that,  but " 

Abruptly  Cray  turned  to  Julep.  "  What  do  you  know 
of  it  all?" 

"  By  God,  I  never  thought  he  meant  murder,  that  I 
swear." 

"  You  knew  there  was  some  scheme  afoot,  and  you 
were  in  it,"  said  Cray  now  more  calmly. 

Julep  was  silent.  His  wet  clothes  dripped  upon  the 
deck.  Mrs.  Cray  by  now  had  returned  with  the  lanthorn, 
which  she  placed  on  the  cabin  roof.  She  was  trembling 
and  pale.  Wrapped  in  a  white  dressing-gown,  she  stood 
close  to  the  companion-way  in  the  full  light.  Her  hair 
hung  in  two  long  plaits  on  either  side  of  her  neck,  reach- 
ing to  her  waist.  Cray,  very  tall  in  his  white  sleeping- 
suit,  stood  near  the  stern.  At  his  feet  lay  Trigg's  lifeless 
body,  the  head  resting  in  a  dark  pool  of  blood.  Cray 
continued  his  questions.  "  What  were  you  doing  in  the 
water?  " 

Julep  spoke  quickly,  muttering  his  words  with  his  eyes 
on  the  deck.  "  I  was  after  the  dinghy.  He  said  he'd 
slip  into  the  cabin  for  the  pearls.  I  had  no  thought  of 
murder,  that  I  swear.  For  God,  I  wish  I'd  never  listened 
to  him." 

"  And  you,  John,  what  were  you  doing?  " 


i78  THE    MAINLAND 

"I  —  I  know  nothing  of  all  this,  but  I  was  going  to 
deceive  you  too.  I'm  glad  I  can  talk  now.  I  wanted  to." 
His  voice  was  trembling  and  dry  with  emotion,  though 
full  of  boyish  enthusiasm.  As  he  spoke  he  gained  confi- 
dence. "I  —  your  wife  —  we  were  going  away  together. 
We  love  one  another.  I  wanted  to  tell  you.  Now  we 
can  go  without  deception." 

"  What  were  you  doing  in  the  water?  " 

"  I  was  getting  the  dinghy." 

Cray  laughed  a  hard,  broken  laugh,  then  to  his  wife: 
"  What  have  you  to  say?  " 

Mrs.  Cray's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  deck.  Her  head 
was  bowed.  "  I  am  ashamed,"  she  said  without  looking 
up. 

With  a  fierce  pang  of  pain  that  made  his  cheeks  tingle 
and  shrivel,  the  words  pierced  John's  heart.  The  next 
instant  he  knew  that  he  had  mistaken  her  sense;  she  was 
merely  ashamed  of  their  deception. 

Cray  looked  at  her  with  a  shadow  of  perplexity  visible 
in  his  eyes,  then  with  quick  anger  to  Julep,  "  I  shall  put 
you  ashore.  I  can't  have  people  I  can't  trust  near  me. 
...  Go  forward,  get  your  things  together.  Go  to  the 
forecastle.  Stay  there  till  I  call  you."  Mrs.  Cray  winced 
as  though  the  words  had  been  flung  at  her.  Julep  went 
forward  muttering  to  himself. 

When  he  had  gone,  Cray  came  a  step  nearer  to  John. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  told  you.  We  are  going  away.  We  love  one 
another.  You  would  not  wish  to  keep  her  against  her 
will.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  before  but  she  was  afraid. 
Now  you  must  know." 

"  You  will  make  her  a  home  I  suppose  from  out  of 


THE     MIRAGE  179 

your  great  experience  of  life?  Is  that  what  you've 
arranged?  " 

John  was  stung  by  the  crude  sarcasm.  "  Yes,  I  can 
learn  and  shall  succeed.  I  shall  make  a  better  home  than 
you  have  ever  made  for  her,"  he  answered  defiantly. 
"  She  has  been  unhappy  for  years.  You  know  nothing 
of  her;  hardly  notice  her  existence." 

Mrs.  Cray  broke  in.  "  Oh,  John,  don't  talk  any  more, 
don't  talk." 

"  I  must.     He  must  hear  why  we  are  going." 

She  flashed  at  him  one  glance.  "  That  was  all  a  mis- 
take.    Oh!" 

Again  that  terrible  stab  of  pain  that  made  John  feel 
old  in  face  and  heart.  Where  could  his  courage  come 
from  if  she  was  against  him?  Why  wouldn't  she  look 
at  him?  With  her  support  he  could  manage  everything, 
compel  Cray  to  let  her  go.     Was  she  indeed  ashamed? 

Cray  looked  from  one  to  the  other  still  a  little  puzzled, 
then  he  perceived  that  under  the  strain  of  the  night's 
adventure  something  had  snapped  in  his  wife;  that  she 
was  broken.  He  was  sure  of  her  now.  His  pride  was 
safe.  For  all  time  she  would  be  his,  pledged  irrevocably, 
could  he  but  use  his  advantage.  He  saw  that  he  could 
afford  to  be  generous.  "  Your  choice  is  free,"  he  said  with 
sarcasm  still  in  his  tone. 

"  Oh,  I  am  ashamed!  ashamed!  "  She  stepped  to- 
wards her  husband,  laying  her  head  on  his  arm. 

John's  heart  had  gone  black  and  small.  Hope  had 
died,  with  it  his  spirit  had  died  also;  it  was  but  some  dead 
ghost  that  spoke,  still  he  must  fight  on.  "  Ashamed  of 
what?  All  our  hopes?  All  that  we  dreamed?  All  that 
you  told  me  — where  has  that  gone?  " 


180  THE    MAINLAND 

She  glanced  at  him  warily.     "  That  was  nothing." 

"Nothing!"  The  word  was  like  the  breaking  of  a 
heart.  His  brain  had  turned  black  now,  like  his  heart. 
His  head  was  empty,  only  one  obstinate  belief,  that  was 
no  belief,  persisted.  There  was  some  huge  error.  She 
was  not  against  him,  could  not  be.  All  her  dear  words 
of  truth,  her  smiles,  her  tears  could  not  be  swept  away! 
Then  even  the  mocking  ghost  of  hope  vanished.  She 
was  against  him.  He  was  without  courage,  without 
strength.  Yet  he  must  fight  on  to  taste  all  bitterness. 
Where  was  her  self-possession,  her  gentle  pride?  To 
what  could  he  appeal?  "What  has  happened  —  why 
have  you   forgotten  everything?  " 

The  former  incidents  of  the  night  were  but  as  a  shadow. 
Indeed  they  were  all  oblivious  now  of  the  dead  man  at 
their  feet. 

"  I  have  remembered,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  now 
with  steady  eyes.  "  I  shall  stay  with  my  husband.  We 
are  man  and  wife.  I  had  forgotten,  and  I  —  I  should 
have  loved  you  as  a  friend.  You  are  so  much  younger, 
so  much  younger.  You  will  meet  some  one  your  own  age, 
some  better  woman  whom  you  will  marry.  It  is  my  fault. 
I  should  have  known.  I  shall  stay  with  my  husband. 
It  has  been  a  mistake.  You  must  forget  me,  forgive  me 
if  you  can." 

"  It  is  no  mistake.  What  difference  does  age  make? 
You  were  unhappy,  you  lived  shut  up  in  yourself,  but 
you  were  dying  inside.  With  me  you  rediscovered  life. 
All  of  our  life  was  true  —  the  other  dead.  That  sterile, 
hopeless  life  you  said." 

Cray  had  been  listening,  all  his  keen  intelligence  awake. 
"  Did  you  say  that?  "  he  asked. 


THE     MIRAGE  181 

She  spoke  to  John  now  pitifully,  almost  pleading. 
"  See  how  weak  faith  is  in  me  —  how  old  I  am.  You 
belong  to  another  world.     You  must  go.     You  must  go." 

At  that  moment  Cray  understood  his  wife.  He  had  a 
vision  of  long  years  of  solitude  piled  up  against  her, 
breaking  her  youth  and  spirit.  He  spoke  now  quite  gently 
to  John.     "  She  has  made  her  decision.     You  must  go." 

In  the  last  struggle  of  a  dying  faith,  a  faith,  however, 
that  would  never  be  quite  dead,  the  youth  cried,  "  Why 
do  you  throw  away  from  you  everything  that  we  be- 
lieved? " 

The  answer  was  not  logical,  but  it  had  to  John  a  ter- 
rible and  perplexing  conclusiveness,  the  finality  of  a  mons- 
trous and  all-obscuring  lie,  a  falsehood  never  to  be  for- 
given.    "  I  love  my  husband." 

For  a  moment  he  was  staggered  by  such  a  blasphemy  of 
words,  then  he  flashed  at  her,  "  If  you  did  you  wouldn't 
say  so." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  learn  to,"  said  Cray  with  a  humility 
that  sounded  strange.  They  were  all  silent  while  several 
moments  passed.  Then  Cray  asked  his  wife,  "  Do  you 
wish  to  say  anything  else?  " 

"  No." 

She  turned,  and  with  one  look  at  John,  into  which  at 
future  times  he  could  read  all  manner  of  fancies,  she 
walked  down  the  steps  into  the  cabin. 

Then  John  heard  Cray  shouting  to  Julep.  All  was 
vague  about  him,  he  was  indifferent  to  what  happened. 
The  scenes  that  followed  were  always  indistinct,  as  if 
they  had  happened  in  a  dream. 

"  Julep,  have  you  got  your  things  ready? "  Cray 
shouted. 


182  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Yes." 

"  Go  to  the  hold  and  fetch  a  couple  of  heavy  shells." 

John  vaguely  wondered  what  he  wanted  shells  for. 
When  Julep  came  Cray  bent  over  the  body.  He  took 
the  shells  from  Julep  and  put  them  in  the  dead  man's 
pockets.  Then  he  stuck  the  marlinespike  through  his 
belt.  "  That  ought  to  sink  him,"  he  said.  "  John,  give 
me  a  hand."  He  bent,  lifting  Trigg's  shoulders.  John 
mechanically  took  hold  of  the  feet.  They  dragged  the 
body  to  the  side.  It  seemed  extraordinarily  heavy.  Then 
with  a  lurch  they  sent  it  overboard.  An  arm  waved  in  the 
air,  the  water  looked  black  and  thick  as  very  slowly  the 
corpse  sank.  John  felt  his  heart  and  all  his  youth  go  with 
it  down  into  the  cold  blackness.  Bubbles  alone  rose  from 
out  that  obscurity.  After  that  he  was  numb  with  misery, 
regardless  of  details  He  was  ordered  with  Julep  to  get 
into  the  dinghy.  He  remembered  feeling  it  strange 
that  he  should  sit  in  the  stern  and  that  Cray  should  scull. 
When  they  reached  the  land  Cray  backed  in  the  boat 
stern  first.  He  heard  Cray  ask,  "  Can  you  jump  out 
now?"  "Yes."  Then  he  jumped  out.  It  all  seemed 
so  much  like  an  ordinary  expedition;  but  the  thought 
came  that  he  would  never  see  her  again  and  that  she  was 
unhappy,  having  sustained  some  injury  the  nature  of 
which  he  did  not  comprehend,  but  which  was  deep  and 
crippling. 

As  he  stood  on  the  beach  he  could  hear  the  sound  of 
Cray's  sculls  getting  more  remote.  Julep  was  saying 
something  to  him.  "  We  better  stay  here  till  it's  a  bit 
light.     It's  so  damned  dark  I  can't  see  the  way." 

"  On  the  other  side  of  the  sand-hills,"  said  John,  "  out 
of  sight." 


THEMIRAGE  183 

In  a  hollow  of  the  dunes  they  lay  down  to  wait  till  the 
dawn.  The  earth  was  still  warm  from  the  day's  sun. 
Above  them  the  sky  was  thick  with  tiny  glittering  stars. 
The  milky-way,  like  an  ascending  spire  of  smoke,  swept 
across  the  heavens.  Other  stars  shone  bright  and  hard. 
For  a  while  John  gazed  at  them,  then  put  his  arm  across 
his  eyes  to  shut  out  their  cold  and  pitiless  indifference. 

vni 

For  a  while  John  lay  still  with  his  arm  pressed  hard 
across  his  eyes.  His  finger-nails  were  gripped  in  the  flesh 
of  his  shoulder,  and,  as  his  muscles  tired,  the  action 
instead  of  becoming  feebler  became  tighter  and  more 
savage.  If  by  shutting  out  the  faint  light  of  the  stars 
he  could  find  in  the  immeasurable  darkness  oblivion  from 
the  pain  of  his  new  knowledge,  then  he  were  content 
to  shut  off  life  for  always  and  to  lie  dead  upon  the  sand- 
dunes.  But,  just  as  distorted  and  grotesque  patterns  grew 
under  his  dark  eyelids,  so  new  knowledge  flickered  and 
blazed  in  livid  flames.  Question  followed  question  in 
useless,  hopeless  succession.  There  was  no  answer,  yet 
there  was  always  the  same  answer,  inarticulate,  finding 
no  words  for  expression,  vague  and  evasive,  which  like 
a  burning  cloud  enveloped  the  world.  Sometimes 
through  physical  tiredness  he  could  relax  a  little,  sinking 
with  a  vague  gratefulness  into  the  comparative  calm  of 
despair;  then  his  pain  would  swoop  again  hungrily  upon 
him,  making  his  muscles  taut,  his  whole  frame  to  vibrate 
beneath  the  sharpness  of  its  blows. 

During  the  times  of  relaxation  he  began  to  argue  with 
himself.  How  was  it  he  had  been  so  tame?  This  pain, 
had  he  then  felt  it,  could  impel  him  to  anything.     Why 


184  THE     MAINLAND 

had  he  let  her  go?  He  should  not  have  taken  her  denial, 
for  it  was  false.  He  had  been  as  one  stunned  —  stupid, 
silent,  obedient.  Why  had  he  been  so  young,  so  unpre- 
pared ? 

In  amongst  these  futile  questions  came  curses  and 
mutterings  from  Julep.  Slowly  John  began  to  feel  a 
slight  interest  and  opened  his  eyes.  He  saw  Julep  not  far 
distant  and  could  discern  his  features  in  the  twilight  of 
early  dawn.  Julep  looked  back  at  him  with  a  queer  ex- 
pression of  self-depreciation. 

"  Well,  we've  made  damned  fools  of  ourselves,"  he  said 
with  a  sour  smile,  "  and  the  only  consolation  is  that  that 
blighter  Trigg  got  his  deserts.  I  lost  all  my  share  through 
him  for  nothing,  and  find  myself  a  thieving  scamp  at 
the  end  of  it." 

"  What  were  you  doing?  "  asked  John. 

"  We  were  going  to  sneak  some  of  the  pearls,  but  I 

never  knew  he  was  up  to  murder  —  the  swine Now 

I'm  damned  if  I'm  going  to  talk  about  it.  It's  bad  enough 
to  have  taken  the  wrong  side  and  be  paid  out."  Then  as 
John  said  nothing,  "  The  Boss  is  all  right.  I've  never 
served  under  a  better  man;  and  what's  worst  of  all  is 
having  gone  back  on  him.  Thank  God  that  blighter's 
dead;  if  he  weren't —  I'd  do  for  him  myself " 

After  another  pause  he  mused,  "  He's  no  coward  either; 
he  takes  every  risk.  He  leaves  you  and  me  here,  a  few 
miles  from  Kaimera,  to  give  him  away  for  taking  the 
pearls  and  doing  in  that  dud;  but  by  God  we're  not 
that  sort,  and  it's  just  something  to  think  that  he  knows 
it." 

John  still  made  no  answer,  his  interest  in  Julep  had 
dropped   and  he  had  gone  back   to  his   own  thoughts. 


THEMIRAGE  185 

Julep  regarded  him  with  a  certain  surprise  and  a  faint 
interest  that  any  one  should  take  a  love-affair  so  hard. 
"  And  you  made  a  pretty  blimy  fool  of  yourself,"  he 
said  encouragingly;  "  why  didn't  you  take  a  black  girl 
as  I  told  you,  instead  of  messing  about  with  a  married 
woman?  " 

John  felt  a  passing  wave  of  anger,  but  somehow  it  was 
too  irrelevant  to  his  suffering  to  find  expression.  He 
remained  still  silent.  Julep,  seeing  the  drawn  look  on 
the  boy's  face,  felt  a  genuine  compassion.  "  Come, 
don't  take  it  too  hard,"  he  said,  "  there  are  plenty  of 
other  women  in  the  world  —  white  ones,  married  too  if 
you  prefer  'em.  Cheer  up,  they're  as  common  as  goose- 
berries and  as  easily  picked,  once  you  know  the  way." 

The  words  were  so  unaccordant  to  John's  thoughts  that 
he  hardly  heard  them,  yet  the  communion  with  another 
human  being  and  Julep's  crude  though  well  meaning 
sympathy  worked  in  him  strongly.  Against  his  will  two 
unexpected  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Come,  John,  cheer  up,"  said  Julep  kindly.  "  You're 
so  damned  young,  that's  why  you  feel  it.  It's  nothing 
when  you're  a  bit  older  and  know  how  to  put  things  in 
their  place.  You  know  how  it  is  with  dogs.  You've 
seen  the  old  dog  tied  to  his  kennel,  he's  quiet  and  happy, 
while  the  puppy  yelps  all  day  and  most  of  the  night. 
It's  just  the  same  when  the  pup  gets  his  first  licking,  most 
of  his  howling  is  due  to  surprise  and  outraged  feelings. 
After  a  bit  he  gets  used  to  it,  just  as  he  gets  used  to  the 
chain.  You  can't  get  everything  you  want  —  but  as  you 
get  older  you  can  get  a  good  deal  if  you  go  the  right  way 
about  it." 

John  was  touched  by  his  kind  intention,  and  answered 


186  THE     MAINLAND 

rather  tragically,  "  But  there  is  no  one  else  like  that." 
"  Lord  bless  you,  yes,"  said  Julep,  thinking  that  the 
saneness  of  his  philosophy  was  bound  to  tell,  "  hundreds 
of  them.  All  the  women  are  much  the  same.  Put  their 
heads  in  bags  and  you  could  hardly  tell  the  difference. 
God  made  them  all  for  the  same  good  purpose,  and  they 
damned  well  know  it." 

John  could  almost  feel  a  wan  kind  of  amusement  to 
think  how  little  Julep  could  understand.  He  did  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  say  anything.  Julep,  who  took 
this  silence  as  a  sign  of  the  youth's  conversion  to  a  sen- 
sible point  of  view,  continued  his  discourse  now  not  so 
much  for  John's  enlightenment  as  for  the  gratification 
of  hearing  his  own  wisdom.  "  Yes,  they  are  all  the  same, 
except  that  you  get  tired  of  some  sooner  than  of  others. 
No  man  can  go  on  loving  a  woman  any  more  than  he  can 
go  on  eating  sweet  cake,  that's  why  women  are  always 
discontented.  If  you  ask  me,  you  were  lucky  to  get  off 
so  easily.  Had  you  never  thought  that  you  might  be 
tired  of  her  in  three  months'  time?  You'd  have  a  change 
of  fancy  by  then,  besides  she's  ever  so  much  older  than 
you  are,  and  you'd  be  put  to  it  to  know  what  to  do  with 
her,  just  when  you  were  getting  a  taste  for  life.  She'd 
be  a  lump  round  your  neck." 

John  cut  him  short,  raging  at  him.     "  You  fool,  don't 
speak    of   her,    don't    dare    speak    of  her  —  damn  you  — 

damn  you "     In  his  anger  he  had  sprung  to  his  feet 

and  now  stood  over  Julep,  his  eyes  hard  with  rage.  Then, 
as  he  saw  in  Julep's  eyes  a  surprised  and  ruffled  look  of 
resistance,  he  knew  that  all  his  courage  and  hope  were 
dead.  He  wished  only  to  be  away  from  this  loathsome 
cynicism,  to  be  alone  where  all  his  stricken  faith  could 


THE     MIRAGE  187 

wither  and  die  without  being  defiled.  He  turned  abruptly 
and  walked  with  quick  trembling  steps  away  towards 
the  low  hills  that  stretched  to  eastward. 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  expostulated  Julep,  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  say  anything  against  her.  Sit  down,  and  don't 
be  a  fool."  Then,  as  he  saw  John  turning  away  towards 
the  bush,   "  Come  back,   John,   don't  be  a   fool.     Come 

back Oh  well,   damn  you,   I'm  not  going  to  run 

after  you."  Then  to  himself,  "  What  the  hell's  the  matter 
with  him?  He'll  get  bushed  as  like  as  not."  Again  he 
shouted,  but  John,  who  was  now  some  distance  away, 
took  no  notice.  "  Well,  I  can't  go  running  after  him," 
thought  Julep.  "  He  can  run  a  sight  faster  than  I  can." 
Then  consoling  himself,  "  He'll  soon  come  to  his  senses 
when  he  gets  hungry." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE   TOWN 


THE  small,  though  flourishing,  port  of  Rupert- 
town  is  the  junction  of  the  Northern  line  from 
Gould  and  the  railways  from  the  Lyell  Gold- 
fields;  from  Nallan,  Mt.  Gerard  and  Redsand.  It  does 
considerable  shipping  trade  besides  being  the  commercial 
centre  and  outlet  to  all  towns  and  stations  in  the  Lyell 
and  Garloo  districts.  A  long  street,  lined  with  shops  and 
hotels,  which  runs  parallel  to  the  shore,  is  its  chief  feature. 
Beyond  this  street  are  rising  sand-dunes  with  dwelling 
houses  clustered  upon  their  sides  and  summits,  some  of 
which  are  built  in  two  or  even  three  stories  after  the 
European  pattern.  Here  and  there  are  green  enclosures  of 
garden.  To  south  of  the  town  are  low-lying  stretches  of 
sea-marsh  from  whence  comes  mosquitoes  and  sand-flies. 
Inland,  are  hills  rising  slowly  towards  Garloo. 

The  town  of  late  years  has  been  particularly  prosperous. 
This  prosperity  is  displayed  by  the  imposing  plate-glass 
windows  of  its  few  shops  and  by  the  record  number  of 
"  drunks."  There  is  a  saying  that  there  are  more 
"  drunks  "  in  Ruperttown  at  nine  in  the  morning  than  in 
any  other  town  in  the  West  at  the  same  hour  at  night. 
By  midday  it  is  certainly  the  rule  that  every  third  man 
goes  with  an  uncertain  gait.     This,  considering  that  the 

188 


THE    TOWN  189 

air  is  dry,  the  sun  hot,  money  very  cheap,  and  the  inns 
and  drinking-shops  in  adequate  proportion  to  the  town's 
prosperity  is  natural  enough. 

It  was  late  evening  when  down  the  long  street  John 
Sherwin  walked,  with  a  quick,  rather  nervous  step,  look- 
ing about  him  from  side  to  side.  He  had  arrived  by 
the  steamer  which  had  just  come  from  Kaimera,  and  was 
one  of  the  first  of  a  crowd  of  passengers  who  now  hurried 
ashore.  John  was  dressed  in  new  clothes  of  the  ordinary 
pattern:  blue  dungarees,  a  blue  shirt  and  a  felt  hat;  over 
his  shoulder  he  carried  a  bundle. 

Since  that  time  when  he  had  walked  away  by  himself 
leaving  Julep  alone  upon  the  sand-dunes  many  small 
incidents  had  gone  towards  moulding  the  new  channel 
into  which  his  life  should  flow.  At  first  he  had  just 
walked  on  aimlessly,  anxious  to  be  alone,  then  after  a 
while  he  had  become  aware  that  he  was  very  hungry, 
and  still  more  thirsty.  He  had  a  thirst  so  great  that  it 
almost  rivalled  the  suffering  of  his  mind.  His  instinct 
for  life,  though  it  had  been  for  a  few  moments  broken 
and  twisted,  now  recovered,  and  if  for  no  other  motive 
than  to  gratify  his  thirst  he  made  as  straight  a  course 
as  he  could  for  Kaimera. 

About  two  miles  north  of  the  town  he  came  on  a  dried- 
up  river-bed,  with  here  and  there  pools,  banked  by 
rushes,  white  gum-trees  and  thickets  of  red  eucalyptus- 
bushes.  He  took  deep  draughts  of  the  warm  green  water, 
then  sat  down  to  think.  In  spite  of  his  misery  «'hich  in 
no  way  grew  less,  but  recurred  with  all  its  maddening 
questions  and  regrets,  he  knew  that  he  must  live.  For 
what  purpose  he  could  not  answer,  since  all  hope  was 
dead.     But  he  must  live  —  his  instinct  told  him  that  —  if 


190  THE    MAINLAND 

for  no  better  reason  than  a  savage  vindictiveness  against 
his  own  youthful  idealism.  After  a  while  he  came  to 
notice  that  the  river-bed  where  he  sat  was  beautiful, 
just  such  a  place  where,  with  Mrs.  Cray,  he  had  been  so 
often  happy.  There  were  tiny  creepers  growing  amongst 
deep  moss  which  stabbed  him  with  remembrance,  then 
there  was  all  the  tribe  of  insects,  the  buzz  of  wings,  the 
singing  of  large  yellow  cicadas,  for  all  of  which  she  had 
her  own  fanciful,  yet  very  adequate,  names.  With  a 
kind  of  bitter  self-hatred  he  wished  no  longer  to  see  the 
reflections  of  his  love,  and  so  had  trudged  on  towards 
the  town. 

On  his  way  he  turned  over  possible  plans  of  action. 
The  world  was  empty,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should 
stay  at  one  place  or  go  to  another.  The  thought  of  per- 
haps visiting  his  people  on  Kanna  Island  came  to  him,  but 
he  put  it  aside  with  revulsion.  He  could  not  bear  them 
to  see  him  so  utterly  a  failure.  Then  he  thought  that 
at  Kaimera  people  might  know  him.  Pomfrey  might 
be  there  and  he  would  be  recognized.  He  would  get 
away  as  soon  as  possible.  His  father  he  had  heard  talk 
of  the  gold-fields.  By  boat  he  could  get  to  Ruperttown, 
then  perhaps  go  inland. 

In  the  evening  when  he  reached  Kaimera,  he  found 
that  he  needed  money  and  remembered  that  at  the  bank 
there  was  fifty  pounds  that  Cray  had  paid  for  his  stingaree 
skins.  When  he  had  made  his  way  to  the  flat-faced 
imposing-looking  building  he  was  surprised  to  find  that 
Cray  had  left  a  letter  for  him  that  morning.  With  the 
letter  was  an  enclosure  of  forty  pounds  for  himself  and 
a  hundred  pounds  for  Julep,  He  read  with  difficulty  the 
small  firm  handwriting. 


THE    TOWN  191 

"  To  John  Sherwin, 

"  The  enclosed  forty  pounds  are  the  wages  due  to 
you  for  the  five  months  you  have  been  with  me.  This 
is  at  the  rate  of  two  pounds  a  week  which  your  services 
have  fully  justified.  The  hundred  pounds  in  the  enclosed 
envelope  you  will  give  to  Julep;  it  should  cover,  for 
him,  the  expenses  of  this  trip.  You  will  be  wise  to  keep 
the  money  banked  till  you  have  in  view  some  sound 
investment. 

"  Yours,  etc., 

"  Arthur  Cray." 

That  was  all,  there  was  no  message,  no  mention  of  the 
past.  How  indeed  could  there  be?  he  questioned; 
yet  he  felt  keen  disappointment  that  Mrs.  Cray  should 
not  have  sent  some  word,  some  kindness,  which  would  have 
taken  away  part  of  his  bitterness.  He  felt  reproach 
against  her  omission,  hugging  the  cruel  thought  that  all  his 
love  had  been  for  her  but  a  trivial  mistake. 

He  became  conscious  that  the  people  in  the  bank  were 
watching  him.  Damn  Cray  and  his  talk  of  "  sound 
investment."  He  would  take  out  all  the  money  and  get 
away  to  Ruperttown  as  soon  as  possible;  away  from  this 
cursed  spot. 

At  the  hotel  he  found  Julep  as  he  had  expected,  and 
handed  him  his  money.  Then  he  had  gone  off  to  the 
Coffee  Palace  where  he  preferred  to  lodge.  He  did  not 
wish  to  hear  Julep's  unavailing  regrets,  his  eulogies  of 
Cray,  or  philosophical  remarks  about  women. 

The  ten  days  that  he  had  to  wait  for  the  next  steamer 
he  spent  almost  entirely  by  himself.     He  bought  a  new 


i92  THE    MAINLAND 

outfit  of  clothes,  so  as  not  to  be  conspicuous.  Most  of 
each  day  he  sat  in  his  room  gazing  out  to  sea.  He  shrank 
from  the  idea  of  conversation,  or  even  from  being  seen 
by  other  people.  In  his  mind  he  was  puzzling  out  the 
ethics  of  disillusionment.  Slowly  they  sifted  themselves 
clear  of  his  pain.  If  the  world  was  his  enemy  and  the 
fairest  hopes  made  of  brittle  stuff,  then  it  were  best  to 
take  firm  grasp  on  suspicion.  For  hours  he  would  brood, 
thinking  about  women.  Mrs.  Cray  he  would  acquit 
from  all  general  indictments  —  she  was  something  apart, 
wonderful  in  herself,  justifying  all  that  she  did;  in  him 
must  have  been  the  blame  —  but  when  he  thought  of 
women,  other  women  as  opposed  to  men,  he  believed 
them  to  be  false  and  wanton.  He  did  not  actually  admit 
this  to  himself,  for  he  would  still  have  repudiated 
Julep's  philosophy,  but  this  was  the  strong  undercurrent 
of  his  feeling.  His  instinct  for  self-preservation  would 
make  him  distrustful  of  them  in  future. 

The  voyage  on  the  steamer  had  come  as  a  relaxation. 
John  had  found  that  the  sea  was  still  blue  in  the  light  of 
sunshine,  and  his  senses  could  take  pleasure  in  a  kind  of 
apathetic  contemplation  of  the  moving  water.  This 
tranquillity,  that  he  now  felt,  lay  only  on  the  surface. 
It  was  a  superficial  calm;  underneath  was  a  tumult  of 
emotion  of  which  his  brain  knew  nothing.  A  wave,  that 
from  babyhood  to  childhood,  to  adolescence,  had  been 
sweeping  steadily  on  had  now  been  checked.  It  had 
impinged  upon  hard  rocks,  and  deep  down  was  raging  in 
angry  swirls  soon  to  break  the  surface,  beating  it  into 
foam  and  broken  water. 

Now  that  he  had  arrived  in  Ruperttown  John's  busi- 
ness was  to  look  about  for  a  lodging.     The  first  large 


THE     TOWN  193 

hotel  that  he  came  to  was  "  The  Golden  Sun."  He  paused 
for  a  moment  a  little  shy  of  entering,  then  walked  into 
the  bar  where  some  twenty  men  were  drinking  uproari- 
ously. He  pushed  his  way  through  the  throng  to  the 
counter.  "  Can  you  let  me  have  a  bed  for  the  night?  " 
he  asked  of  the  host,  a  spare  man  who  somewhat  reminded 
him  of  Peter  Trigg. 

"  Have  a  bed  ?  Yes.  But  you've  come  to  the  wrong 
door.     Now  you're  here,  you'll  have  a  drink?  " 

A  jolly-looking  half -tipsy  man  struck  John  on  the 
back.  "  Of  course  he'll  have  a  drink.  What  shall  it  be, 
sonny?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  won't  have  any,"  said  John. 

"What,  not  have  a  drink?  Gor  blimy!  What's  the 
matter  with  the  kid?  " 

"  No,  I  want  a  bed,"  said  John  lamely. 

"  Well,  you  can  go  to  bed  when  you've  had  a  drink ! 
What's  to  stop  you?  "  said  the  man. 

A  well-looking,  handsome  girl  with  thick  lips,  pale 
cheeks  and  sleek  black  hair,  who  stood  behind  the  bar 
leant  across  to  John  and  said  pleasantly :  "  Come, 
Mister,  what  will  you  'ave?  You  must  have  something 
to  oblige  the  gentleman.     'Ave  a  Scotch  and  soda." 

"  Very  well,  Scotch  and  soda,"  said  John. 

The  stuff  tasted  horrible,  reminding  him  of  the  smell  of 
dead  mice,  but  he  gulped  it  down.  The  men  watched  him 
amused,  seeing  his  distaste.  "  Well,  how  do  you  find  it  ?  " 
said  one  of  them.  "That's  good  whiskey  that  is;  any- 
way, it's  as  good  as  you'll  get  in  Ruperttown,  unless  you 
buy  it  in  a  bottle." 

"  Looks  as  if  the  last  thing  he  tasted  was  his  mother's 
milk,"  said  another  man.     "  How  do  you  like  it?  " 


i94  THE    MAINLAND 

John  was  nettled.  He  would  show  them  he  was  not  so 
green  as  they  thought.  He  turned  to  the  man  who  had 
stood  him  the  drink.     "  What  will  you  have?  " 

The  man  smiled,  gratified.  "  Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I 
do."     Then  to  the  girl:     "  Same  as  usual." 

John  nodded  to  two  other  men  who  stood  near.  "  Will 
you  join  us  ?  " 

Accepting,  they  extended  to  him  a  friendly  grin.  He 
was  not  such  a  mug  after  all.  The  talk  then  flowed  on. 
John  gulped  down  his  second  glass.  He  now  noticed 
that  the  girl  with  the  sleek  black  hair  was  looking  at  him 
with  wide-open,  talking  eyes.  The  admiration  and 
interest  in  her  look  made  him  remember  that  he  had 
rather  a  fine  body.  Something  in  him  responded  with  a 
leap  towards  his  old  self-confidence.  He  gave  a  glance 
back  which  was  recognition  of  the  tribute  that  she  paid. 

"  If    you    want    a    room,    I'll    show    you,"    she    said. 
"  You'd  better  pay  and  come  along,  unless  you  want  these 
fellows  to  fill  you  up." 

John,  having  no  smaller  change,  pushed  a  five-pound 
note  across  the  counter.  The  bar-keeper  looked  at  him 
with  new  interest.  "Are  you  staying  here  long?"  he 
asked. 

"  Three  or  four  days,  I  expect,"  said  John.  The  man 
nodded  and  passed  him  across  his  change.  "  Four 
pounds  sixteen  shillings.     It's  a  shilling  a  drink  here." 

"Are  you  coming?"  said  the  girl.  When  they  were 
outside  she  said:  "Lord!  you  shouldn't  show  all  that 
cash.  You're  lucky  to  get  away.  Never  show  more  than 
half  a  quid.     Let's  'ave  a  look!  " 

They  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  up  the  stairs,  for 


THE     TOWN  195 

five  drunken  men  lay  supine  in  different  places.  "  They 
are  all  '  gropers  '  from  upcountry,"  commented  the  girl. 
"  See  the  way  they  wave  their  arms  in  their  sleep  ? 
That's  because  of  the  flies.  The  flies  are  dreadful  in 
Talgoo.  They  gets  into  the  'abit  of  brushin'  them  off, 
and  when  they're  drunk  they  does  it  just  the  same. 
Well,"  she  added  philosophically,  "  they  pay  for  beds, 
it's  their  own  fault  if  they  don't  sleep  in  them." 

She  showed  John  into  a  two-bedded  room.  "  Will 
this  do  for  you?  Take  your  choice  of  beds.  There'll  be 
another  bloke  in  here  afore  long."  Then  after  a  short 
pause  and  another  meaning  look:     "  What's  your  name?  " 

"  Sherwin." 

"  No,  your  Christian  name?  " 

"  John." 

"  My  name's  Mabel.  You  can  call  me  Mabel,  John. 
Well,  good  night." 

"  Good  night." 

He  felt,  as  he  shut  the  door,  a  glow  of  response  to  the 
girl's  approaches.  Her  strong  female  quality  was  like  a 
challenge.  Sex  antagonism  burnt  up  in  him,  making  him 
wish  to  run  after,  to  catch  her,  subdue  her,  and  master 
that  sensual  animal  that  he  saw  in  her  eyes.  Then  as  he 
walked  across  the  shabby  little  bedroom  he  felt  pain  come 
back  upon  him.  How  loathsome  all  this  was!  How  far 
from  him  all  that  he  had  dreamt  and  hoped!  How  he 
hated  the  present !  Yet  what  else  was  there?  That  it  was 
all  so  different,  was  the  one  consolation  which  grew  to  a 
savage  exultation.  He  would  trample  on  all  his  old  self, 
exacting  a  pitiful  revenge.  Oh !  she  had  lied  to  him,  lied 
to  and  renounced  him.     Such  faith  could  never  grow  again. 


196  THE    MAINLAND 

He  would  trample  it  deep  in  the  mire.  To  be  able  to  live 
he  must  kill  that  aching  weakness  in  himself.  Every- 
thing had  gone,  only  sensuality  was  left. 

He  lay  still,  long  into  the  night,  listening  to  the  noises 
of  the  hotel.  Men  were  shouting  and  swearing  in  the 
bar  and  in  the  passage-way.  From  the  bedrooms  came 
hoarse  shouts  and  from  the  rooms  opposite  and  on  either 
hand  came  the  retching  and  belching  of  abandoned  drunk- 
enness. 

n 

The  next  morning  John  was  up  late.  He  had  a  dry 
feeling  in  his  throat  and  a  cold  hard  lump  in  his  stomach. 
He  had  no  appetite,  so  went  out  without  breakfast  and 
walked  down  the  wide  street  in  the  bright  sunshine  looking 
at  the  shops.  By  a  shop  that  sold  books  and  papers  he 
paused.  There  were  names  on  some  of  the  covers  of  the 
books  that  he  had  learnt  about  from  Mrs.  Cray.  No,  he 
would  not  read,  he  would  tightly  shut  out  all  that  life; 
it  was  too  thick  with  pain.  He  walked  on  towards  the 
open  flats  of  the  salt  marshes.  Here,  amongst  the  wild 
things,  in  the  open  air  and  the  sunshine,  a  little  breath 
of  the  old  life  came  back,  bringing  with  it  the  same  pain. 
Hastily  he  turned  back  towards  the  town. 

At  the  hotel  he  dined  in  the  big  saloon  under  the 
burning  iron  roof.  Flies  swarmed  on  walls  and  ceiling, 
and  hung  in  black  festoons  on  the  coloured  paper,  which 
long  ago  had  been  put  up  in  honour  of  some  feast. 
John  ate  the  rich,  hot  meal  greedily;  there  was  nothing 
in  it  to  remind  him  of  the  clean  frugal  food  of  the  camp. 

When  he  had  finished,  the  innkeeper,  strolling  in, 
greeted  him  and  took  a  seat  at  his  table. 

"  And  how  long  do  you  think  of  staying?  "  he  asked, 


THE    TOWN  197 

"  A  day  or  two." 

"  Are  you  thinking  of  going  up  the  line?  " 

"  Perhaps,  I'm  not  sure." 

"  You're  not  wanting  a  job  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Well,  you  won't  mind  my  mentioning  it,  but  you 
seem  new  to  this  part.  If  you  carry  bank-notes  on  you 
you  may  one  day  find  them  missing;  it's  best  to  have 
them  put  away  somewhere.  Now  if  you  are  staying  here 
for  a  bit,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  you 
shouldn't  —  it's  comfortable  enough  and  there's  good 
food  —  I'd  take  care  of  your  money  for  you,  keep  it  safe. 
Then  you  could  just  eat  and  drink  here  and  I'd  reckon 
it  off  against  your  account.  When  you  go,  you  could 
have  the  balance." 

To  John,  who  had  been  rather  embarrassed  by  his 
wad  of  notes,  the  idea  appeared  quite  good.  He  thanked 
the  innkeeper  for  his  consideration  and  without  further 
discussion  handed  him  over  fifty  pounds.  Some  half- 
conscious  thought  at  the  back  of  his  mind  made  him 
feel  that  he  might  need  some  money  for  sudden  and 
private  purposes.  It  would  strip  him  of  strength  to 
be  left  quite  moneyless.  He  kept  back  thirty  pounds 
odd. 

The  fifty  pounds  was  more  than  the  brightest  hopes 
of  the  innkeeper  had  risen  to,  not  that  he  had  not  taken 
cheques  of  twice  that  size  off  fellows  before,  but  then 
John  was  so  young,  and  didn't  look  as  if  he'd  had  much 
money.  He  now  folded  the  notes  carefully  and  with 
satisfaction  before  putting  them  in  his  pocket.  "  Well, 
you  can  stay  here  and  have  all  that  you  want.  Don't 
stint  yourself,"  he  said,  rising. 


198  THE     MAINLAND 

John  nodded,  relieved  at  not  having  so  much  money 
about  his  person. 

in 

In  the  afternoon  John  lounged  on  one  of  the  long, 
red  divans  of  the  big  saloon.  In  the  corner  was  a  small 
private  bar  for  the  convenience  of  guests  staying  in  the 
hotel,  and  which  in  the  evening  took  the  overflow  from 
the  outer  bar.  For  some  time  he  was  the  only  occupant 
of  the  room.  He  sat  idly  there  having  nothing  else  to 
do;  besides,  the  air  was  a  little  cooler  than  outside 
under  the  awning.  On  hearing  the  clink  of  tumblers 
he  looked  up  and  saw  that  Mabel  had  come  into  the  bar 
in  the  corner. 

"  Hullo!     All  alone —  are  you  out  of  sorts?  "  she  said. 

John  resented  the  question.  "  No,  it's  damned  hot, 
that's  all." 

She  strolled  across  to  close  where  he  sat  and  leant 
against  a  table.  "  Well,  I  suppose  you're  like  the  rest, 
work  till  you've  made  a  cheque,  then  slack  about  and 
have  a  good  time  till  you've  spent  it?  But  you  didn't 
give  all  your  money  to  the  boss,  did  you  ?  " 

John  perceived  a  significance  in  her  question.     "  No." 

Their  eyes  met  and  he  knew  that  they  were  both 
conscious  of  each  other's  thoughts.  His  glance  travelled 
on  over  her  body,  noting  its  proportions.  Then  he  stood 
up  rather  awkwardly  close  to  her.  There  was  between 
them  an  acute  consciousness  of  sex  attraction.  His 
instinct  told  him  that  here  was  a  woman  who  deliberately 
offered  herself  to  what  was  an  habitual  gratification.  She 
also  was  aware  of  the  fierceness  of  his  need,  divining  that 
everything   in  him  had,  for  the  time,  turned  to  desire. 


THE     TOWN  199 

For  a  moment  they  said  nothing,  then  John  put  a  hand 
on  her  arm.  She  came  towards  him,  yielding  to  his  grip, 
then  in  abandonment  pressed  close  to  him.  For  a  time 
they  clasped  oblivious,  in  a  kiss  such  as  John  had  never 
experienced. 

Steps  and  voices  were  heard  approaching  the  door. 
Mabel  pushed  herself  free  and  turned  to  the  newcomers 
with  an  astonishing  coolness.  John  was  obliged  to  turn 
away  to  regain  composure.  His  brain  was  thick  and 
dizzy. 

Three  men  entered,  demanding  drinks.  They  asked 
John  to  join  them.  He  didn't  mind  what  he  did;  he 
was  pulsing  with  excitement  and  glad  to  meet  them  on 
their  own  footing.  The  fiery  spirit  seemed  good  as  he 
gulped  it  down,  there  was  pleasure  too  in  listening  to 
the  coarse  jokes  of  one  of  his  companions  and  in  knowing 
what  was  between  him  and  the  woman  there,  with  the 
hungry,  speaking  eyes.  As  time  went  on  he  became  talk- 
ative, excited,  and  stood  drinks  all  round.  Other 
men  came  in.  He  stood  more  drinks,  flushed  with  the 
power  of  being  able  to  show  off.  They  were  amused  at 
him,  made  him  talk.  He  babbled  all  sorts  of  nonsense, 
drank  and  shouted,  and  all  the  while  the  thought  of  the 
girl  blazed  in  his  mind  like  a  smoky  torch.  The  drink 
gave  him  new  power,  new  strength,  making  him  more 
perfect  for  her  embrace. 

As  time  went  on  and  the  room  filled  up  John  became 
moody,  clasping  his  one  thought.  Though  he  felt  his 
head  swimming  he  asked  defiantly  for  another  glass. 
Mabel  leant  towards  him. 

"  You've  had  all  you  can  hold,"  she  whispered.  "  You 
better  go  to  bed  now." 


200  THE    MAINLAND 

He  understood,  and  was  for  a  moment  sobered  by  a 
tightening  of  excitement  in  his  chest.  Without  answer- 
ing, he  turned  and  staggered  across  the  room.  A  voice 
shouted  scornfully,  with  a  burst  of  drunken  laughter, 
something  about  having  had  enough  already,  but  he  didn't 
heed. 

On  the  upper  corridor  Mabel  was  waiting.  He  didn't 
speak,  there  was  no  need  of  speech,  but  followed  her  up 
yet  another  flight  of  stairs.  He  was  blind,  dumb,  ob- 
livious to  everything  but  one  overmastering  impulse. 

IV 
When  he  woke  the  next  morning  John  had  a  very  bad 
headache  and  couldn't  remember  where  he  was.  He  lay 
still,  looking  at  the  lighter  square  of  the  window  and  the 
drawn  blind.  Then  remembrance  came  back  like  a  sear- 
ing flame.  For  a  while  he  was  unwilling  to  look  at 
the  woman  by  his  side.  A  weakness  and  a  desire  to  cry 
came  over  him.  Had  he  been  in  the  open  lying  upon 
the  earth  he  could  have  wept  and  been  refreshed.  How 
deep  was  his  misery?  He  questioned.  How  different 
was  life  from  the  brave  hopes  of  his  love?  What  was 
upon  him  now  was  reality  and  the  present.  Life  was 
real  and  no  dream.  How  he  hated  the  beastly  woman 
who  lay  there  breathing  heavily.  He  turned  to  look  at 
her.  Her  face  was  red  and  puffy,  her  black  scurfy  hair 
dragged  across  the  rumpled  pillow.  The  stabbing  thought 
came  that  he  had  better  die  than  know  such  degradation; 
and  yet  his  strong  instinct  for  life  was  even  then  turning 
against  itself  in  hatred.  Life  with  its  recurring  con- 
vulsions of  pain  had  still  to  rend  itself  many  times 
before  he  could  win  to  any  freedom.     Again  he  looked 


THE    TOWN  201 

at  the  girl.  He  was  glad  she  was  still  asleep;  he  didn't 
think  that  he  could  bear  having  to  talk  to  her  and  look 
at  her.  Very  quietly  he  got  out  of  bed.  She  moved  and 
turned  over,  but  did  not  wake.  Then  John  collected  his 
clothes  and  hurried  down  to  his  room. 

With  the  day,  came  the  same  monotony  of  idleness 
and  the  same  resurging  of  his  pain,  followed  by  the  fierce 
desire.  By  midday  Mabel  appeared  looking,  in  contrast 
to  his  last  view  of  her,  very  powdered  and  neat.  Though 
he  now  hated  her,  she  still  had  the  same  unanswerable 
attraction. 

Since  there  was  no  incentive  in  Ruperttown  for  John 
to  do  anything,  he  stayed  on  in  idleness  at  the  hotel,  and 
the  days  and  weeks  went  by.  As  time  passed  he  came  to 
hate  Mabel  so  much  that  he  thought  he  would  kill  her. 
It  gave  him  pleasure  to  think  of  different  possible  ways. 
At  any  rate,  she  was  his  to  struggle  against  in  mutual 
mutilation.  He  would  tear  the  very  essence  of  life  out 
of  her,  grip  her  with  steel  muscles  and  crush  her  cruelly 
beneath  his  weight. 

When  drinking  at  the  bar  John  won  a  cheap  sort  of 
notoriety  for  his  recklessness  and  the  foulness  of  his 
speech.  He  drank  heavily,  his  strong  constitution  being 
able  to  stand  the  foul  stuff  that  was  sold  as  whisky, 
though  it  left  its  mark  on  him.  His  face  became  blotchy, 
his  eyes  bloodshot.  His  former  self,  together  with  his 
pain,  became  less  active,  more  inclined  to  slumber.  His 
soul  submerged  in  self-hatred  could  find  in  lethargy  a 
welcome  oblivion.  Upon  its  sensitiveness  he  could  heap 
the  ruins  of  his  youth,  burying  safe  from  any  breath  of 
thought  that  tender  surface,  which  winced  and  bled  be- 
neath the  sharp  cruelty  of  recollection.     Then  one  day 


202  THE     MAINLAND 

there  came  an  incident  which  woke  him  to  new  life  and 
new  pain. 

In  one  of  the  gloomy  phases  of  drunkenness  he  was 
sitting  in  the  dining  saloon;  his  head  was  heavy,  and 
for  the  most  part  he  kept  his  eyes  shut,  because  of  the 
throbbing  in  his  eyeballs.  Two  men  in  well-fitting  white 
suits  sat  at  a  table  close  by.  Their  voices  drew  John's 
attention.  They  were  cultured,  clear  voices,  reminding 
him  at  once  of  Cray.  He  opened  his  eyes  to  see  what 
sort  of  men  they  were,  feeling  at  the  same  time  resent- 
ment. They  were  both  men  of  about  thirty,  obviously 
not  inhabitants  of  Ruperttown.  One  of  them  was  stolid 
in  appearance  for  so  young  a  man.  He  had  a  some- 
what bloated  look,  without  being  in  any  way  corpulent. 
His  eyes,  which  seemed  to  note  with  a  mixture  of  pleas- 
ure, amusement,  and  disdain  his  friend's  arguments,  were 
intelligent,  though  glassy.  On  the  whole  a  remarkable 
figure,  even  attractive,  except  when  you  noticed  the  back 
of  his  neck  which  was  thick  and  puffy.  His  companion 
who  was  now  speaking,  and  whose  voice  it  was  that  had 
attracted  John's  attention,  was  a  vivacious,  fair-haired 
man  with  deep  wrinkles  on  his  forehead  which  he  continu- 
ally twitched  as  he  spoke. 

"  How  can  you?  "  he  contended.  "  You,  who  are  the 
collector  and  possessor  of  so  many  fine  works  of  art, 
affect  to  despise  men?  The  firm  and  harmonious  feeling 
which  is  expressed  in  their  work  —  you  cannot  despise 
that.  .  .  .  Why,  take  even  these  savages,  whom  we've 
just  left,  the  lowest  type  of  men,  their  message  —  sticks 
and  boomerangs,  all  the  paraphernalia  of  their  sacred 
dances,  each  is  ornamented  correctly,  with  the  right  feeling, 
expressive  of  the  designer's  sense  of  harmony  and  also 


T  H  E    T  O  W  N  203 

possessing,  what  one  might  call,  a  religious  dignity. 
Take  the  next  step  in  evolution  —  go  to  the  Malays  and 
Paupans  with  their  grotesque  and  awe-inspiring  figures 
—  surely  they  speak  of  the  maker's  soul.  Such  works 
live  for  all  time,  clothed  in  their  peculiar  beauty  —  a 
terrifying  beauty,  I  admit  —  but  the  beauty  is  there.  Go 
further  —  across  the  Pacific,  and  you  cannot  dare  to 
despise  the  markers  of  the  vast  megaliths  —  the  dwellers 
on  the  great  lost  continent  who  have  fashioned  figures 
more  august  and  greater  even  than  we  with  all  our  ma- 
chinery can  rival.  Take  any  civilization  or  people  that 
you  like:  Egyptian,  Greek,  Roman,  Florentine  or  even 
the  moderns,  their  work  speaks  for  them,  vindicating  the 
soul  of  man,  expressing  it  always  with  dignity  and 
beauty." 

"  Your  arguments  don't  do  your  intelligence  much 
credit,"  replied  the  other.  "  All  that  may  sound  very 
well,  but  it's  superficial.  You  don't  discriminate.  Of 
course,  man  has  made  beautiful  things;  why  else  should 
I  collect  them?  But  have  you  ever  met  a  man  or  woman 
(don't  answer  in  a  hurry)  who  was  beautiful  and  har- 
monious in  the  way  that  even  the  simplest  design  is 
harmonious;  and  not  only  that,  but  who  was  not  petty, 
contemptible  and  even  foul  in  the  less  obvious  though 
deeper  channels  of  his  life?  No.  Men  are  the  manure 
out  of  which  the  fine  flower  of  art  can  grow.  I  despise 
them  because  I  know  them.  They  are  mean  and  greedy. 
Always  greedy.  Greedy  for  money,  or  food,  or  women, 
or  fame.  They  call  their  greed  ambition  or  love,  as  it 
suits  them;  but  underneath  it's  just  dirty,  guzzling, 
gutter-greediness,  the  greed  of  a  lustful  and  conceited 
animal.     Yes,  and  above  all,  hypocritical." 


204  THE     MAINLAND 

While  he  spoke  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  on  a 
theme  which  to  expound  gave  him  some  pleasure. 

"  They  are  vermin  —  dirty  vermin.  Yes,  even  you 
and  I,  my  friend,  are  like  that."  He  smiled,  offering 
his  cigarette-box.  "  Of  course,  you  and  I  get  our  clothes 
from  a  good  tailor  —  that  is,  when  there  happens  to  be 
one,  which  is  not  the  case  in  Australia  —  and  wash  sev- 
eral times  a  day.  Uusually  I  am  not  so  bad  mannered  as 
to  destroy  the  sentimental  insincerities  that  we  live  behind ; 
but  when  you  confuse  a  man  with  the  work  that  he  pro- 
duces,   then "     He    didn't    finish   the    sentence,    but 

merely  looked  deprecatingly  at  the  ash  on  his  cigarette, 
which  he  blew  away.  "  When  you  next  go  out  anywhere, 
here  or  in  Europe,  just  look  at  humanity  with  as  little 
prejudice  as  possible.  There  is  not  one  moral  quality  or 
motive  that  is  not  pretending  to  be  something  that  it  is 
not,  and  to  hide  from  mankind  his  own  filthiness.  Every 
public  utterance  from  ministers,  archbishops,  and  the 
rest  of  them  is  for  the  same  purpose,  and  based  upon  a 
foundation  of  lying  assumptions.  Not  one  of  these 
speakers  but  would  blush  to  have  his  motives  analysed 
or  his  thoughts  known.  And  if  we  knew  them,  we  would 
all  scream  with  rage  and  shame  because  they  are  so  like 
our  own."  He  smiled,  with  a  sense  of  the  completeness 
of  his  intellectual  assurance.  "  You  ask  how  it  is  pos- 
sible to  despise  men;  I  ask  how  is  it  possible  to  do  any- 
thing else?  " 

His  friend  was  impressed,  but  not  convinced.  "  You 
must  admit,"  he  said,  "  that  there  is  a  relation  between 
a  man  and  the  work  he  produces.  If  the  work  is  good, 
then  the  man  must  possess  that  good  quality." 


T  H  E    T  O  W  N  205 

"  Just  the  relation  between  a  dunghill  and  the  flower 
growing  upon  it." 

"  But  the  flower  grows  from  a  seed." 

"  Yes,  but  the  seed  isn't  generated  by  the  dunghill, 
as  you  might  know." 

"  From  where  does  it  come,  then?  " 

"  From  previous  generations  of  flowers,  just  as  in  art. 
Tradition."  He  smiled  ironically.  "  The  good  God  has 
ordained  that  works  of  art  shall  grow  out  of  men  just  as 
flowers  out  of  dung.  There  is  the  relation."  Then,  as 
if  exasperated  by  the  other's  stupidity.  "  Just  look  about 
you  if  you  want  to  be  convinced."  He  nodded  in  John's 
direction.  "  There's  a  specimen  of  hopeful  young  hu- 
manity with  a  few  of  the  veils  off.  He's  so  drunk  all 
the  time  we've  been  here  (and  for  a  good  deal  longer, 
I  expect)  that  he's  no  eyes  or  thoughts  except  for  a 
dirty,  lousy  female  whom  you  and  I  (because  we  have 
the  habit  of  being  well-dressed  and  washed,  that's  the 
chief  reason)  wouldn't  touch  with  the  end  of  our  um- 
brellas. It  has  amused  me  to  observe  them  together. 
Sometimes  he  looks  at  her  with  quite  a  pleasing  sincerity, 
without  any  disguise.  No  doubt  he  would  call  it  love, 
if  he  were  articulate;  and  with  good  reason." 

John  felt  such  rage  surge  up  in  him  that  he  knew  that 
for  the  moment  he  could  not  speak.  Then  he  rose  and 
walked  to  the  table  where  the  two  men  were  sitting. 

"  You !  "  he  used  the  only  words  that  in 

the  vernacular  of  swearing  could  express  his  disdain. 
Words  that  cannot  safely  be  applied  in  anger  to  even 
the  most  degraded.  "  You  dried  up  miserable  creature. 
You  know  nothing  with  all  your  damned  talk.     You've 


206  THE     MAINLAND 

never  tried  to  live.  Better  be  a  verminous  rat  born  to 
failure  than  a  thing  like  you."  He  bent  over  the  young 
man's  scared  face  and  bawled  at  him.  He  was  so  excited 
that  tears  were  in  his  voice;  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was 
saying.     "  Don't  speak  of  love,  you  beast." 

All  the  men  in  the  room  had  risen  to  their  feet,  sur- 
prised at  what  seemed  to  them  an  unprovoked,  drunken 
attack.  Already  the  host  and  one  of  his  assistants  were 
running  forward  to  interfere. 

The  young,  well-dressed  stranger,  quickly  recovering 
from  the  first  shock  of  the  assault,  had  scrambled  to  his 
feet  and  stepped  back  quickly.  "  Take  the  drunken  brute 
away,"  he  said,  with  cool  contempt. 

"By  God!  I'll  do  for  you,"  roared  John,  stung  to 
fresh  rage.  He  made  a  rush  forward,  striking  furiously. 
One  blow  got  in,  but  the  other  missed;  then  he  was 
hurled  back.  He  didn't  know  whether  it  was  two,  or 
three,  or  more  men  against  him,  but  he  fought  on,  mad 
with  rage,  regardless  how  many  blows  fell.  In  particular 
he  remembered  being  struck  twice  very  hard  on  the  body 
and  on  the  chin.  He  then  became  dizzy  and  the  strength 
went  out  of  him,  but  he  staggered  on  under  yet  more 
blows,  feeling  the  sharp  quick  jerks  of  them  rather  than 
the  pain.  At  last  a  black  and  all-obscuring  cloud  shut 
down  over  his  brain  with  a  feeling  of  blessed  relief,  then 
he  fell. 

"  Damn  the  young  swine;  I've  fairly  broke  my  knuckles 
on  his  jaw,"  complained  the  host.  Then  he  turned  apolo- 
getically to  the  man  who  had  been  assaulted.  "  I'm  very 
sorry,  sir.  I  hope  he  didn't  hit  you  hard.  I  knew  he 
was  a  bad-blooded  young  devil,  but  I  never  fancied  as 
how  he'd  play  out  like  that  all  of  a  sudden.     He's  been 


T  H  E    T  O  W  N  207 

here  long  enough,  I'll  turn  him  out  after  this.  It's  the 
last  he'll  have  from  me."  Then  looking  again  at  his 
knuckles.  "  My  word,  I  must  have  fairly  broke  his  jaw. 
I'd  have  never  thought  there  was  so  much  fight  in  him, 
after  going  the  pace  as  he  has  for  a  month!  " 

The  young  man,  who  had  now  entirely  recovered  his 
composure,  merely  looked  some  of  his  contempt  at  the 
self-gratulating  and  ingratiating  attitude  of  the  inn- 
keeper, then  glancing  down  at  John's  unconscious  figure 
he  said  slowly,  emphasizing  each  word.  "  Take  the 
filthy  brute  away  and  kill  him." 

V 
When  John  recovered  consciousness  he  found  that  he 
had  been  rolled  out  into  the  backyard  of  the  hotel,  and 
was  now  lying  amongst  some  short,  rank  grass  that  grew 
sparsely  round  a  scrap-heap  formed  of  empty  tins  and 
broken  bottles.  The  sun  was  blazing  down  upon  the  back 
of  his  neck,  making  him  feel  sick,  while  each  of  his 
many  bruises  was  pulsing  as  if  it  must  burst.  For  a 
while  he  lay  still  just  conscious  of  his  misery,  too  sore  to 
move.  Why  could  he  not  die  and  have  done  with  it  all? 
he  wondered.  He  wished  for  death,  not  fearing  it,  but 
fearing  with  an  overwhelming  dread  further  degradation 
that  might  come.  On  this  rubbish-heap  he  felt  it  was 
too  hot  to  die.  If  it  were  not  so  hot  and  dry,  but  cooler 
then  he  might  be  able  to  die  comfortably.  His  very  dis- 
comfort stirred  him  to  life.  Where  the  sun  was  so  hot, 
life  was  sure  to  triumph.  He  felt  a  savage  need  to  laugh 
at  himself.  He  was  no  weakling  to  die  because  he'd  had 
a  few  knocks!  Certainly  he  had  nothing  to  live  for,  but 
that  was  very  different  from  being  able  to  give  up  life. 


208  THE    MAINLAND 

The  very  insistency  of  the  throbbing  pain  in  his  head 
and  limbs  was  a  sign  of  life.  The  dry  blood  on  his  face 
and  neck  that  cracked  off  in  little  flakes  as  he  moved,  all 
seemed  a  conclusive  proof  of  his  obstinate  vitality.  He 
rose  to  his  feet  swaying  unsteadily;  but  only  for  a 
moment.  He  had  to  kneel  down  again  because  of  a 
cracking  feeling  in  his  head.  If  only  he  could  get  to 
the  tank  and  drink  some  water,  he  thought,  nothing  else 
would  much  matter;  that  would  be  sufficient.  He  started 
to  crawl  on  hands  and  knees,  hoping  that  no  one  would 
come  out  from  the  hotel  and  jeer  at  him.  The  way 
seemed  long,  and  twice  he  had  to  rest,  but  at  last  he 
reached  the  tap.  He  let  the  water  run  into  his  mouth  and 
over  his  face.  That  was  better;  he  felt  stronger  now, 
and  again  stood  up. 

Outside  the  yard  there  was  a  row  of  low  cottages,  and 
to  one  side  of  them  was  a  thicket  of  bushes.  John 
looked  at  this  thicket  enviously.  If  he  could  get  into 
their  shade,  then  he  would  be  able  to  rest.  Gathering 
all  his  strength  he  walked  swaying  across  the  yard.  At 
the  gateway  he  had  to  pause,  clinging  on  to  one  of  the 
gates  for  support.  The  way  his  limbs  trembled  and  his 
knuckles  rattled  against  the  woodwork  seemed  somehow 
ludicrous;  then  pity  for  himself  surged  up  and  tears 
began  to  run  down  his  face  as  the  black  picture  of  present 
misery  swept  before  him,  blotting  out  that  hurrying  and 
tremulous  thought  of  dreamed-of  happiness).  He  felt 
then  how  small  and  weak  he  was.  How  had  he  dared 
hope  for  anything  ?  Now,  if  in  all  humility  he  could  reach 
the  shade  of  the  thicket  it  would  be  happiness  enough. 
His  love  was  dead,  and  dust.  No,  not  dead,  but  hot 
dust    and   an    ache   more   burning   than   all   his   bodily 


T  H  E    T  O  W  N  209 

bruises.  A  cowardly  thought  came  to  him:  if  he  could 
cry  from  his  heart,  just  once,  expressing  all  his  sorrow, 
then,  as  the  wound  opened  and  let  forth  his  agony,  the 
shuck  of  him  that  was  left  behind  would  be  so  empty 
that  he  would  die.  The  thought  burnt  through  him 
like  the  passion  of  love,  making  him  tremble  more 
violently.  He  was  dumb  and  knew  that  he  would  remain 
dumb  always.  Then  more  practical  thoughts  came  to 
him.  There  was  still  the  thicket  to  be  reached.  Half 
laughing,  now  half  crying  at  his  weakness  he  staggered 
across  the  intervening  ground  and  crawled  deep  into  the 
thicket.  For  a  long  while  he  lay  still,  content  to  be  at 
rest.  The  pains  in  his  brain  became  less  acute,  and  he 
slept.  When  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  He  felt  much  better 
—  not  nearly  so  dizzy,  though  still  very  stiff.  Stretching 
his  limbs  and  feeling  his  bruises  he  began  to  take  an 
interest  in  his  recovery.  It  was  strange,  he  thought, 
that  he  should  care  for  anything  so  trivial.  He  was  glad 
of  the  silence  of  the  night  time.  There  was  in  the  air  of 
the  night  a  touch  of  softness,  a  comfort  which  was  not 
tangible,  but  which  enveloped  him  gently. 

Then  again  he  slept,  this  time  not  waking  till  late  in 
the  morning. 

The  sun  was  well  up,  and  through  the  twigs  and  leaves 
he  could  see  bright  patches  of  blue  sky.  People  were 
occasionally  passing  down  the  road.  He  was  glad  that 
he  was  concealed  and  could  lie  there  unobserved.  In 
the  cottage  that  was  nearest  the  thicket,  the  door  was 
wide  open  and  John  could  hear  the  sounds  of  a  woman 
cleaning  her  house.  He  shifted  his  position  so  that  he 
could  see  the  open  door  and  also  could  look  down  the 
rcitd  which  lay  in  front  of  the  cottages.     Two  small  boys 


210  THE    MAINLAND 

passed,  who  he  hoped  would  not  see  him;  then  a  woman 
came  down  the  road.  She  stopped  at  the  open  door  and 
looked  in. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Leeth,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that 
you've  had  more  trouble." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mrs.  Tracy.  My  life's  been  full  of 
trouble;  eight  children  in  nine  years:  and  only  three  of 
them  left  now  this  one's  been  took."  x 

The  voices  became  lower  and  muffled  and  John  sup- 
posed that  the  two  women  had  gone  into  the  house. 
After  an  interval  they  came  to  the  door  again  and  he 
heard  Mrs.  Leeth  complaining:  "  There's  not  been  much 
going  out  for  me  since  I  was  married.  He  never  does  a 
hand's  turn  to  help  me  with  the  home;  he's  all  for  outside, 
he  is  —  people  don't  know  what  I've  had  to  put  up  with 
—  never  even  wash  up  the  breakfast  things,  he  won't,  not 
when  I  had  to  take  the  poor  baby  to  hospital  and  be 
there  by  nine,  and  when  I  got  back  past  twelve  and  the 
children  wantin'  their  dinner  I  got  to  wash  up,  he  grum- 
bling 'cause  his  dinner  wasn't  ready.  .  .  .  Then  the  next 
day  when  they  sent  round  to  say  the  baby  was  dead,  he 
didn't  say  nothing.  He  don't  care."  The  voice  now  be- 
came less  accusing  though  more  charged  with  indignation, 
with  tears  not  far  distant.1 

The  voices  again  became  indistinct  and  John  lay  still, 
feeling  his  cheeks  drawn  and  thin.  In  his  brain  there 
was  a  painful  sickness.  Here  was  a  misery  worn  hard 
with  sordid  outrage.  Life  was  cruel  and  unrelenting  as 
he    too    had    felt    it,    but    more    sordid    than    he    had 

1  Passage  omitted  at  advice  of  the  publisher. 


THE     TOWN  211 

imagined.  But  oh,  the  years,  the  long  years  of  its  dura- 
tion! Was  it  courage  or  mere  stupidity  that  made  poor 
human  animals  endure  to  live  yet  other  years  of  suffering? 
Perhaps  that  beast  of  a  fellow  in  the  hotel  had  reason  to 
despise  men,  but  it  was  rather  pity  that  John  felt,  pity 
and  a  passionate  regret  for  the  dreams  of  his  youth. 
In  those  moments  of  intense  understanding,  as  he  lay 
motionless  in  the  bushes,  he  saw  his  early  life  as  a  happy 
dream  now  far  away.  The  picture  of  life  now  before 
him  was  reality.  Here  was  the  great  mainland  of  human 
suffering  upon  which  he  too  had  trodden.  He  knew 
with  a  sure  conviction  that  Mrs.  Leeth  was  no  exception. 
She  was  one  of  hundreds  and  of  hundreds  of  thousands. 
The  picture  of  suffering  humanity  dazed  his  imagination. 
In  Ruperttown  there  were  many  others  with  probably  as 
hard  a  fate;  and  just  as  Ruperttown  stood  to  John's 
small  experience  as  the  symbol  of  all  civilization,  so  Mrs. 
Leeth  in  the  squalor  of  her  affliction  symbolized  the 
sordid  suffering  of  all  humanity.  He  felt  the  infectious 
breath  of  compromise  and  failure  blown  towards  him, 
threatening  to  hold  down  in  the  mire  for  ever  the  broken 
pinions  of  his  faith.  He  was  possessed  by  terror  at  the 
vast  indifference  of  mankind  towards  crimes  perpetuated 
against  the  spirit  of  life,  and  his  soul,  already  stricken 
and  made  weak  with  pain,  shrank  back  before  the  shadow 
of  despair. 

While  the  women  had  been  speaking  the  interest  of  what 
they  had  said  had  held  him;  now  that  they  had  ceased, 
he  felt  that  it  would  be  intolerable  to  remain  any  longer 
concealed  where  he  was.  He  wanted  to  be  away  from 
men  and  women;  the  wide  gulf  between  the  reality  of 
life  and  his  boyish  ideals  was  so  great,  that  even  the 


212  THE     MAINLAND 

desire  for  wreaking  upon  himself  vengeance  for  his  failure 
now  dwindled,  leaving  nothing  but  the  instinct  of  some 
wounded  animal  for  solitude. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  escape  without  observation  from 
his  hiding-place.  He  had  no  thought  of  trying  to  recover 
the  money  that,  in  his  innocence,  he  had  handed  over  to 
the  innkeeper.  The  few  weeks  that  he  had  known  of 
civilization  were  sufficient  to  teach  him  that  there  was 
small  chance  of  its  recovery.  Nearly  all  the  money  that 
he  had  kept  by  him  he  had  at  one  time  or  another  given 
to  Mabel.  He  now  had  but  a  few  shillings,  sufficient, 
he  was  glad  to  think,  to  buy  him  a  meal. 

Near  the  railway  station  at  the  back  of  the  town  was  a 
small  Coffee  Palace.  Here  John  bought  food  and  drink. 
In  the  afternoon  he  walked  up  the  line  which  ran  straight 
eastward  into  a  country  of  mulga  scrub  and  bare  red 
dust.  Not  far  from  the  town  the  track  climbed  a  long 
gradient.  Near  the  top  of  this  John  waited,  lying  down 
in  the  shadow  of  some  acacia  bushes.  For  a  while  he 
slept,  being  still  tired  from  the  experiences  of  the  previous 
day.  In  the  evening  he  was  woke  by  the  Garloo  and 
Mt.  Gerard  train  puffing  slowly  up  the  incline.  John 
waited  concealed  in  the  bushes  till  it  had  almost  passed, 
then  ran  out  and  swung  himself  up  above  the  wheel- 
axles  of  the  last  coach.  He  had  heard  of  this  method 
of  travelling,  and  now  found  that  he  could  hoist  him- 
self clear  of  the  moving  axles,  and  without  much  diffi- 
culty hold  himself  in  safety.  When  the  train  had  climbed 
the  gradient  and  the  pace  increased  John  had  to  hold 
tight  and  was  much  jolted.  He  found,  in  a  little,  a 
better  position,  and  in  spite  of  the  many  jolts  was  con- 
soled to  think  that  every  minute  took  him  further  from 
the  hated  port  of  Ruperttown. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE    DESERT 


NORTH-EAST  of  Garloo  a  tableland  of  red 
granite  stretches  for  sixty  miles  before  it  ab- 
ruptly breaks  to  the  shores  of  Lake  Harrison. 
In  winter  the  lake,  which  is  thirty  miles  long,  is  covered 
with  a  thin  layer  of  water,  but  in  summer  its  thick  mud 
is  caked  over  with  a  far-stretching  expanse  of  blue-white 
salt.  The  upland  plateau,  with  the  long,  red  cliff  dip- 
ping to  the  lake  is  typical  of  the  West  Australian  bush. 
The  quartz  and  felspar  of  the  granite  have  split  into 
the  finest  dust,  which  is  caked  hard  on  the  surface  and 
cracked  by  the  sun's  heat.  Here  and  there  at  intervals 
dry,  blue-leaved  mulga  bushes  break  the  surface,  thin 
gnarled  stems  —  expressive  of  a  struggle  against  extreme 
heat  and  lack  of  water.  In  this  desert  there  is  small 
variety  of  animal  or  bird  life.  The  aboriginal  natives 
are  now  almost  extinct  and  never  to  be  seen  in  their  wild 
state.  Kangaroos  and  wallabies  are  still  abundant  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  water-holes.  Smaller  animals  there 
are  of  various  kinds:  echidnas,  bandicoots  and  mice, 
though  no  species  is  very  plentiful.  Of  birds  there  are 
few.  The  red  and  black  crows,  the  wheelbarrow  bird, 
who  makes  a  noise  like  the  squeaking  of  an  unoiled  wheel, 
an  occasional  parroquet  that  screams  as  his  green  wings 

213 


214  THE    MAINLAND 

flash  by,  and  sometimes  there  appear  larger  flocks  of 
tiny  birds  that  sweep  from  bush  to  bush  with  faint 
chirpings.  The  stillness  of  the  land  is  what  gives  it  its 
quality  and  its  beauty.  Here  bird-voices  do  not  mingle 
as  in  Europe;  each  sounds  separate  and  alone,  emphasiz- 
ing the  silence.  The  bushes  also  seem  to  minister  to 
the  stillness.  They  grow  separate,  divided  by  large 
spaces  of  sun-baked  earth.  Their  feathery  branches, 
poised  in  the  motionless  air,  seem  like  raised  hands  com- 
manding attention,  waiting  for  some  secret  voice,  guarding 
with  pious  gesture  the  ancient  spirit,  which  by  virtue  of 
its  external  restraint  has  remained  young,  while  a  million 
geneiations  of  such  gnarled  slow -living  shapes,  have  ful- 
filled their  guardianship,  have  waited,  always  hushed  for 
the  secret,  and  have  become  dust. 

North  of  Garloo  there  are  a  series  of  water-holes,  at 
one  time  used  by  the  natives.  They  lead  in  an  irregular 
chain  some  thirty  miles  into  the  bush,  forming  con- 
venient bases  for  gold-prospectors  and  sandal-wood  cut- 
ters. Close  to  one  of  these  holes  Loo  Radcliffe  and  John 
Sherwin  made  their  first  temporary  camp  after  leaving 
Garloo. 

John  had  travelled  as  far  as  Garloo,  hanging  on  to  the 
underside  of  the  last  coach  of  the  Mt.  Gerard  train. 
He  had  then  been  too  stiff  to  go  further  and  had  stayed 
in  the  town  for  a  few  days;  during  which  time  he  had 
taken  any  odd  jobs  that  he  could  pick  up.  By  chance  he 
had  fallen  in  with  Radcliffe,  who  had  come  to  the  town 
covered  with  the  red  dust  of  the  bush,  fresh  from  sandal- 
wood cutting.  They  had  talked  together,  and  Radcliffe 
had  agreed  to  employ  John  at  piecework.  He  had  ad- 
vanced  him   a   small   sum  of  money   on  the   agreement 


THE    DESERT  215 

that  John  should  work  for  six  months  with  him  in  the 
bush;  then  they  had  together  bought  John's  equipment, 
which  consisted  of  an  ax,  very  carefully  chosen,  two 
cooking  "  billies  "  and  a  "  bluey."  Radcliffe  had  then 
purchased  sufficient  stores  for  a  long  expedition  into  the 
bush.  These  had  been  loaded  into  a  light,  though  spa- 
cious, handcart,  and  they  had  set  off,  dragging  the  cart 
behind  them. 

John  would  have  been  glad  to  go  with  any  one  who 
would  offer  him  a  means  of  livelihood,  away  from  the 
towns,  with  their  temptation  of  cheap  women  and  bad 
drink,  and  he  had  not  looked  at  Radcliffe  with  any 
critical  judgment.  Solitude  was  the  medicine  for  which 
he  craved;  any  one  who  would  help  him  to  the  fulfilment 
of  that  desire  he  would  willingly  accept.  Loo  —  he  was 
seldom  known  by  any  other  name,  and  had  almost  for- 
gotten that  he  had  another  —  was  a  typical  bush  groper. 
He  had  lived  for  so  many  years  in  the  bush  that  he  would 
have  found  existence  anywhere  else  impossible.  He  had 
become  red  like  the  soil,  the  fine  particles  of  dust  having 
worked  deep  into  his  skin.  Like  most  solitary  workers 
he  was  given  to  long  silences.  Of  this  John  was  glad, 
having  no  wish  to  talk,  far  less  to  be  questioned.  He 
wanted  merely  to  be  away  by  himself  and  lost  to  man- 
kind. The  new  knowledge  and  experience  of  pain  must 
have  time  to  adjust  itself.  Perhaps  with  time  and  soli- 
tude his  soul  would  grow  strong  enough  to  bear  that 
weight,  and  not,  as  now,  to  sink  under  it  in  agony. 

The  first  day  they  dragged  their  cart  ten  miles  north- 
ward through  the  bush.  Across  the  desert-scrub  there 
was  fairly  easy  going,  the  ground  being  level  and  the 
bushes  so  far  apart  that  it  was  usually  easy  to  go  between 


216  THE     MAINLAND 

them.  Throughout  the  heat  of  the  day  the  two  men 
worked  in  silence  save  for  brief  directions  from  Loo  as 
to  which  way  to  drag  the  cart.  It  was  not  till  evening, 
when  they  reached  a  water-hole,  that  any  exchange  that 
approached  a  conversation  took  place.  Loo  tasted  the 
water  critically.  "  It's  all  right,  but  flat.  Make  a  fire 
and  boil  it;  you'd  better  fill  your  water-bottle  for  to- 
morrow before  it  gets  mucked  up.  Some  of  the  water 
up  here  tastes  better  than  this,  but  it's  so  full  of  minerals 
it's  poisonous.  You  have  to  boil  it  with  Epsom  salts 
before  you  can  drink  it."  Again  he  relapsed  into  silence 
while  John  collected  wood  and  lighted  a  fire.  Then, 
with  his  deeply  lined  face  wrinkled  into  a  searching 
look:     "  Is  this  your  first  time  out  this  way?  " 

"  Yes." 

This  answer  didn't  seem  either  to  please  or  displease. 
Loo  was  silent  till  they  had  boiled  both  the  billies,  filled 
the  bottles,  and  set  them  to  boil  again. 

"There's  no  wood  round  here;  it's  too  close  to  the 
town,  but  another  ten  miles,  the  way  I'll  show  you 
there's  plenty  of  wood  and  a  good  water-hole  I've  found 
that  not  many  know  about;  leastways,  I've  never  seen 
any  tracks  there." 

John  looked  hard  at  the  lined  face  of  his  companion 
which  was  deeply  seamed  with  long  cracks  of  red  mud 
made  of  sweat  and  dust.  There  was  something  in  its 
simplicity  that  was  extraordinarily  aged  and  extraordi- 
narily fresh.  It  seemed  somehow  to  have  taken  on  the 
stamp  of  the  desert,  to  reflect  it,  and  become  almost  a 
part  of  it. 

Loo  smiled  quite  genially  under  John's  direct  stare. 


THE    DESERT  217 

"  That's  right,  have  a  good  look  at  me.     You  won't  see 
another  human  face  for  six  months  or  so." 

"  I'm  glad,"  said  John. 

"That's  my  way  of  thinking;  but  it's  not  so  with 
most,  and  I  daresay  you'll  have  changed  your  mind  in  a 
month's  time,  but  you'll  have  to  stick  it.  You  won't  be 
able  to  find  your  way  back.  And  when  we  get  to  work 
don't  get  roaming  too  far  away  from  the  sound  of  my 
ax.  It's  easy  to  get  '  bushed  '  in  a  country  like  this, 
every  bush  looks  the  same,  and  once  you  are  lost,  then, 
if  you're  new  to  it,  you  may  as  well  give  up  soon  as 
late,  for  there's  nothing  you  see  to  guide  you." 

"  How  do  you  find  your  way?  " 

Loo  had  been  waiting  for  the  question  and  was  pleased. 
"  /  know,  I  couldn't  lose  myself  if  I  tried.  Set  me  down 
blindfolded,  and  I'd  find  my  way  back.  How  old  do 
you  think  I  am?  " 

"  Fifty." 

"  More  than  that  and  I've  been  thirty  years  in  this 
country,  so  I  ought  to  know  it." 

John  put  the  question  though  he  thought  he  knew  what 
the  answer  would  be.  "  Do  you  never  want  to  go  any- 
where else?  " 

Loo,  with  his  eyes  half  shut  from  long  habit  of  keeping 
out  the  dust,  paused  before  he  said:  "  I've  known  men 
out  here  who've  gone  mad  in  a  week  from  this  country, 
and  others  who've  walked  off  and  shot  themselves.  They 
couldn't  stand  it  .  .  .  Well,  I  don't  think  I  could  live 
anywhere  else  .  .  .  You'll  find  out  for  yourself.  .  .  ." 
Then,  as  if  he  had  said  more  than  he  had  meant  to  and 
far  more  than  his  wont,  Loo  began  to  prepare  the  bread 


218  THE     MAINLAND 

for  their  meal.  "  Look  in  that  cloth  and  you'll  find  some 
chops.  The  last  mutton  you'll  have  for  some  time. 
After  this  it  will  be  kangaroo  and  bush  turkey,  and  only 
that  if  we're  lucky.  For  the  rest  it  will  be  dry  bread 
with  a  raw  onion  now  and  then,  and  very  good  tack,  too; 
with  a  dose  of  Epsom  Salts  if  you  get  the  rot." 

After  they  had  eaten  their  meal  John  followed  Loo's 
example  and  rolled  himself  up  in  his  blanket.  It  was 
now  twilight.  The  outlines  of  the  bushes  were  silhou- 
etted against  a  sky  of  pale  yellow  and  green.  The  par- 
roquets  and  smaller  birds  that  he  had  seen  earlier  in  the 
day  were  now  all  gone  to  roost,  and  the  only  sound  break- 
ing the  stillness  was  the  regular  and  high-pitched  whistle 
of  the  wheelbarrow  bird.  As  darkness  set  in,  this  also 
became  silent,  and  John  gazed  up  into  the  great  depth 
of  the  night,  feeling  somehow  soothed  and  comforted. 
He  felt,  even  on  this,  his  first  evening  in  the  desert,  the 
subtle  and  powerful  character  of  its  charm.  There  was 
a  quality  of  virginity  and  unviolated  youth  in  its  vast 
and  silent  extent.  It  was  as  if  some  period  of  the  earth's 
history,  millions  of  years  back,  had  here  survived.  This 
land  had  been  made,  even  as  it  now  remained,  before 
ever  man  or  even  his  ape-like  ancestors  had  troubled  the 
forces  of  evolution.  Here,  sorrow  had  not  yet  been  born. 
Its  very  calm  was  too  tranquil,  its  midday  heat  too  re- 
lentless and  petulant.  He  was  glad  to  feel  around  him 
an  element  even  younger  than  he  was  himself:  younger 
and  yet  eternal.  As  an  old  man  draws  the  warmth  of 
vitality  from  the  near  presence  of  a  child,  so  John,  suf- 
fering from  the  immediate  affliction  of  disillusionment, 
was  able  to  take  comfort  in  the  wide  innocence  of  the 
desert.     He  could  feel  far  down  in  his  heart  a  faint  flut- 


THE    DESERT  219 

ter  of  gladness.  Life  was  still  terrible  with  the  blackness 
of  broken  faith;  and  the  agony  of  his  shattered  hopes 
still  held  his  soul  a  cripple  in  bondage;  he  believed  the 
world  could  offer  no  recompense,  but  could  admit  with  a 
tremor  of  hope  that  fortune  was  at  least  kind  in  pre- 
serving so  strong  and  beautiful  a  spirit  of  earth,  untainted 
by  the  suffering  of  mankind. 

h 

The  next  day  they  left  the  main  wheel-track  that  ran 
north  of  the  town  and  struck  eastward  over  untrodden 
ground.  Before  long  Loo  pointed  out  some  good  clumps 
of  sandal- wood  bushes.  They  did  not  stop  for  them, 
but  pressed  on  towards  the  water-hole  that  was  to  be 
their  base.  At  midday  they  halted  on  account  of  the 
heat,  and  shortly  afterward  came  upon  several  water- 
holes,  at  one  of  which  they  made  their  camp,  burying 
most  of  their  provisions  so  that  mice  and  ants  should 
not  devour  them. 

The  work  of  sandal-wood  cutting  is  a  solitary  trade. 
Each  man  goes  by  himself  over  a  certain  area  of  ground 
cutting  all  the  wood  that  he  can  find.  He  then  drags  it 
to  a  central  pile  which  is  to  be  later  collected.  The 
whole  day  is  spent  in  this  solitary  search  for  the  precious 
wood,  and  most  often  the  two  fellow- workers  do  not 
speak  or  come  within  hail  during  the  day's  work.  At 
evening  they  will  meet  at  the  camp  to  make  a  fire,  boil 
tea  and  prepare  an  evening  meal.  Their  guns  they  have 
with  them  always,  so  that  they  can  shoot  any  kangaroo 
or  bush  turkey  that  comes  within  range. 

For  the  first  days  John  followed  Loo's  advice  and  kept 
always  within  sound  of  his  ax  for  fear  that  he  should  be 


220  THE     MAINLAND 

lost,  but  later,  when  he  came  to  know  with  assurance 
certain  landmarks,  he  went  fearlessly  by  himself,  working 
outwards  from  the  centre,  and  returning  by  even  circles 
to  well-known  ground.  His  first  feeling  of  relief  in  the 
presence  of  the  untamed  country  returned  more  strongly, 
now  that,  for  day  after  day,  he  worked  alone.  The 
silence  of  the  bush,  broken  only  by  the  stroke  of  his  own 
ax,  seemed  the  natural  medicine  of  his  soul.  Here,  there 
was  time  and  space  to  think  and  feel  in  quiet.  Around 
him,  in  the  living  things  and  in  the  growth  of  the  trees, 
were  reflections  of  his  earlier  life.  Wild  nature  he  had 
loved,  living  always  close  to  the  earth,  and  was  now  glad 
to  feel  his  life  enveloped  and  soothed  by  the  untroubled 
beauty  of  its  virginity.  This  feeling  lasted  for  a  while, 
then  a  new  one  slowly  grew  in  its  place.  He  began  to 
realize  the  cold  indifference  of  nature's  smile.  As  the 
discords  of  his  own  mind  became  less  insistent,  and  his 
pain  less  turbulent,  he  felt  with  an  overpowering  vivid- 
ness the  insignificance  of  human  life.  He  came  to  know 
with  convincing  certainty  that  all  human  power  was  but 
an  accident  possessing  but  a  trifle's  weight  compared 
with  the  sublime  endurance  of  the  desert.  He  argued, 
that  men  could  spread  over  the  desert,  changing  the  na- 
ture of  the  land;  but  the  argument  gave  no  assurance. 
Even  though  man  should  cover  the  whole  world  with 
his  importance,  he  would  become  thereby,  more  than  ever 
accidental  and  irrelevant.  The  stars  and  the  vast  spaces 
of  the  sky  would  still  smile  down  as  coldly,  chilling  his 
imagination  to  humbleness,  teaching  him  the  knowledge 
of  his  insignificance. 

The  days  passed  and  John  worked  in  solitude.     The 
sound  of  his  ax  falling  upon  the  hard,  brittle  wood  seemed 


THE    DESERT  221 

the  only  barrier  that  shut  out  the  growing  terror  of  the 
desert.  Yet  the  fear  grew  each  day.  The  easy  confi- 
dence that  he  had  earlier  had  in  the  presence  of  all  wild 
things  was  now  withdrawn.  Familiar  objects  seemed 
grotesquely  magnified,  terrible  in  their  mystical  signifi- 
cance. In  the  presence  of  the  soft,  almost  honey-sweet, 
smile  of  the  desert  the  familiar  humming  of  a  bee  re- 
minded him  of  the  duration  of  eternity. 

Sometimes  he  would  stop  his  work  and  gaze  at  the  dry 
branches  that  had  grown  there  at  the  command  of  the 
great  spirit  of  the  land;  or  had  they  grown  in  defiance  of 
that  spirit?  he  wondered.  Their  gnarled,  dry  stems 
looked  as  if  they  had  taken  a  hundred  years  in  the 
making.  He  thought  he  recognized  in  the  scaly  bark 
and  fiat,  blue  leaves  a  great  humility;  marvelling  that 
they  should  have  the  audacity  for  even  the  soft  and  deli- 
cate expression  of  their  blossoms.  Then,  in  a  sudden 
terror  of  the  tiny  sounds  caused  by  insects  or  a  breath  of 
air,  he  would  swing  his  ax,  finding  an  escape  from  fear 
in  the  working  of  his  own  muscles  and  the  sound  of  the 
ax  on  the  wood.  His  mind  would  run  on  the  question, 
Why  had  those  bushes  lived  there?  Why  grown  so  re- 
mote and  self-possessed?  However  hard  he  worked,  and 
whatever  he  thought,  the  desert  was  always  enveloping 
him  with  its  silent  smile:  a  smile  that  yet  remained  in- 
different to  the  advent  of  man  upon  the  world,  aloof  from 
any  of  his  aspirings.  John  came  to  understand  what 
Loo  had  told  him  about  men  going  mad  in  the  desert. 
He  was  not  going  to  do  that.  He  had  lost  confidence, 
though  not  the  love  of  life.  Though  he  feared;  he  was 
glad  of  its  solitude.  Here  all  impurity  was  washed  from 
his  soul. 


222  THE     MAINLAND 

His  sorrow,  too,  dwindled,  seeming  to  diffuse  itself 
into  the  objects  about  him.  He  had  sometimes  a  pas- 
sionate impulse  to  save  some  of  his  most  intimate  recol- 
lections from  the  oblivion  of  indifference  that  brooded 
around.  He  was  afraid,  often  mortally  afraid,  of  his 
loneliness,  yet  his  brain  insisted  that  he  must  master  his 
fear  or  perish. 

Then  as  weeks  and  months  passed,  the  terror  of  the 
waiting  silence  grew  less.  It  became  familiar.  His 
heart  grew  larger,  taking  from  the  desert  some  of  its 
wide  tranquillity.  Once  he  lay  down  upon  the  earth  and 
wept  with  relief  that  his  fear  was  passing.  In  his  tears 
was  gratitude  for  a  new  and  growing  confidence  —  a  con- 
fidence not  in  life,  or  any  sunny  smiles  of  fortune,  but 
in  himself,  founded  upon  the  firm  base  of  suspicion  and 
despair.  His  pain  no  longer  consumed  him,  though  the 
ache  of  it  would  remain  for  always.  Something  august 
and  gentle  had  entered  into  his  heart. 

Now  that  his  terror  was  passed,  John  felt  a  growing 
interest  in  his  companion.  He  understood  now  the  ex- 
pression in  Loo's  half-shut  eyes,  and  why  he  was  so  silent. 
He  himself  wished  to  be  silent,  but  was  glad  of  the 
presence  of  the  other  man.  At  night,  when  they  sat  to- 
gether by  the  fire,  he  would  feel  a  bond  of  close  com- 
radeship. It  gave  him  an  admiration  and  love  for  his 
companion,  to  know  that  he  had  lived,  for  so  many  years, 
alone,  and  without  failure,  so  close  to  the  naked  spirit 
of  reality.  In  the  smile  of  the  desert  there  was  no  for- 
giveness or  pity.  If  man  in  his  audacity  should  venture 
so  close  to  the  uncovered  heart  of  life  he  would  find 
treachery  and  guile,  cruelty,  swift  madness  and  death; 
but  should  he  survive,  it  would  be  by  power  of  a  love 


THE    DESERT  223 

deep  enough  to  comprehend  the  duplicity  of  life,  and  a 
suspicion  deep  as  his  love.  There  was  pleasure  in 
the  thought  of  Loo's  long  wanderings  in  the  desert  and 
an  increasing,  though  subdued,  joy  in  the  belief  that  so 
potent  a  spirit  must  give  them  each  day  a  closer  re- 
semblance. Their  beings  seemed  to  be  fashioned  to  the 
same  mould.  There  was  no  need  for  them  to  speak  to 
express  their  sympathy.  Brought  together  by  the  com- 
pelling quality  of  the  bush,  they  were,  in  spite  of  the 
difference  of  age  and  experience,  like  two  friends  of 
long  standing.  Theirs  was  the  same  strength  in  weak- 
ness, the  same  humility,  the  same  religion. 

The  life  in  the  bush,  though  from  day  to  day  pre- 
senting little  variety,  is  never  monotonous.  Those  who 
live  there  often  become  oblivious  of  time.  They  do  not 
count  the  days  or  know  them.  When  sufficient  wood  was 
collected  Loo  and  John  returned  to  the  town  where 
they  hired  horses  and  a  cart,  with  which  to  collect 
their  store  of  chopped  wood;  then  they  returned  again  to 
the  bush. 

More  than  six  months  had  passed  in  this  way  when  the 
rains  came.  They  lasted  only  for  a  week,  but  they 
changed  the  whole  face  of  the  land.  The  red  dust  was 
at  first  covered  with  tiny  shoots.  These  grew  to  a  carpet 
of  green  which  burst  into  pink  and  white  blossoms.  Each 
flower  had  dry,  brittle  petals  and  gave  out  a  faint  scent 
of  honey.  Innumerable  insects  soon  swarmed  everywhere. 
Large  stick-insects  became  active  on  the  green  sprouts  of 
the  acacia  bushes.  Grasshoppers  of  all  sizes  were  pro- 
duced as  by  magic,  and  swarms  of  hover-flies  and  sand- 
wasps  filled  the  air.  In  places  the  desert  was  white  as 
snow  with  tiny  blossoms.     The   sudden  and   surprising 


224  THE     MAINLAND 

beauty  was  overwhelming.  John  felt  it  keenly,  and  it 
brought  new  sadness.  Such  joyful  expression  reminded 
him  too  intimately  of  Mrs.  Cray.  The  desert  now  seemed 
to  possess  her  soft  and  silent  capacity  for  ecstasy.  The 
frenzy  of  such  fervent  blossoming  was  pain.  He  saw  in 
it  the  enthusiasm  of  his  love,  knowing  that  such  prodigality 
could  never  again  be  his. 

For  three  weeks  the  flowers  lasted,  then  the  heat  of 
the  sun  burnt  them  and  all  the  life  that  they  supported 
to  fine  powder,  mingling  them  with  the  red  dust  of  the 
earth.  Again  the  dry  heat  settled  upon  the  desert,  the 
ground  opened  in  cracks  beneath  the  sun's  rays,  and  the 
green  leaves  and  white  flowers  became  like  the  remem- 
brance of  a  passing  dream. 

Often  the  silent  heat  of  midday  was  disturbed  by  fierce 
gusts  of  wind  known  locally  as  "  Cock-eyed-Bobs." 
These  swifts  and  currents  of  air  not  more  than  a  yard  of 
two  in  width  rush  roaring  across  the  levels,  carrying  a 
cloud  of  red  dust  with  them,  and  whirling  along  broken 
boughs.  John  could  always  hear  them  coming  and  found 
them  easy  to  avoid,  though  sometimes  when  one  turned 
at  an  unexpected  angle  he  had  to  move  quickly  to  escape 
the  whirl  and  dust  left  in  its  wake.  These  currents, 
which  every  day  race  across  the  plain,  are  small  imita- 
tions, as  it  were,  and  gentle  reminders  of  the  tremendous 
"  Willy-Willies  "  which  yearly  sweep  the  country,  break- 
ing down  all  obstructions  and  often  carrying  away  the 
feathered  live-stock  from  the  farms  and  stations,  depositing 
them  miles  away  in  the  desert  never  to  be  seen  again  by 
their  owners. 

Once,  when  one  of  these  swift  winds  had  passed  not 
far  distant,  John  noticed  bright  flashes  of  metallic  blue 


THE    DESERT  225 

moving  about  the  upper  boughs  of  the  mulga  bushes 
near  him.  On  looking  more  closely  he  saw  for  the  first 
time  the  bright,  blue  butterflies  of  the  "  bush."  By  fol- 
lowing their  irregular  flight  he  was  able  to  observe  one 
closely.  It  perched,  with  several  others  of  its  kind,  on 
a  small  dead  bush  and  there,  sometimes  slowly,  as  if 
in  leisurely  enjoyment,  sometimes  quickly  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight  opened  and  closed  its  brilliant  wings.  That 
so  bright  an  insect  should  live  among  the  dull,  soft 
colours  of  the  "  bush  "  was  surprising,  so,  too,  was  the 
fragility  of  so  airy  a  thing  which  dared  live  in  the  prox- 
imity of  roaring  winds  and  under  fierce  rays  that  burnt 
all  living  matter  to  dust.  John  watched  with  a  kind  of 
awed  wonder  its  delicate  independence.  He  was  aston- 
ished at  the  enigma  of  its  existence.  This  frail  life, 
which  existed  with  obvious  joy  upon  the  scorched,  in- 
hospitable desert,  swept  by  fierce  winds,  was  in  itself  a 
question  set  to  stagger  all  philosophies.  Was  chance  al- 
ways to  remain  master  of  the  ends  of  life?  He  won- 
dered whether  he  himself  and  other  men  had  any  power 
over  the  direction  of  their  lives.  Certainly  he  had  be- 
lieved that  he  had  such  power,  or  did  he  merely  exist  in 
some  space  of  quiet  air  and  at  such  a  moment  when  no 
fierce  wind  rushed  by,  destroying  his  kind,  whirling  them 
along  in  dust  and  storm?  Then,  in  the  stillness  he  was 
dismayed  by  the  thought  of  a  brain  that  could  see  and 
measure  its  own  destruction.  His  dismay  lasted  but  a 
moment,  followed  by  unexpected  gladness.  There  was 
exhilaration  in  the  belief  in  the  hazards  of  chance;  there 
was  delight  like  a  douche  of  cold  water  in  that  feeling 
of  freedom.  As  he  gazed  at  the  butterfly  it  clicked  its 
wings  over  its  back  and  danced  up  into  the  air.     John 


226  THE     MAINLAND 

followed  its  flight,  catching  a  reflection  of  its  gladness. 

Not  only  for  six  months,  as  he  had  agreed,  but  for 
more  than  twice  that  time  did  John  remain  in  the  bush 
with  Loo  Radcliffe.  The  life,  when  once  he  had  mastered 
it,  possessed  a  strange  attraction,  and  for  a  long  while 
he  had  no  desire  to  mix  with  other  men.  He  had  become 
genuinely  fond  of  Loo,  although  they  had  talked  little 
together.  Their  companionship  had  been  very  silent;  the 
surrounding  stillness  of  the  desert  had  expressed,  for 
each  of  them,  all  that  could  need  expression.  After  fif- 
teen months,  John  had  earned  considerably  more  than  a 
hundred  pounds.  He  had  gained  a  new  assurance  in 
himself  and  was  supremely  well.  The  desire  to  travel 
once  more  amongst  men  grew  slowly  but  with  certainty. 
One  day  he  told  Loo  that  he  was  going  further  up  the 
line.  Loo  received  the  information  in  silence,  but  later 
that  evening  remarked  that  further  east  the  rainfall  was 
too  uncertain  for  the  growth  of  good  wood,  though  there 
was  gold  he  knew.  "  Gold  is  always  uncertain,"  he  said. 
"  Of  course,  you  may  have  your  luck,  but  if  you  should 
want  to  come  back  you'll  find  me  hereabouts."  Then, 
as  if  it  were  an  effort,  "  If  you  are  down  on  your  luck, 
come  back  here."  John  nodded;  he  was  wonderfully 
glad  of  Loo's  friendship,  feeling  that  their  mutual  under- 
standing did  not  need  for  its  expression  the  feebleness 
of  speech.  Amongst  the  chances  of  life  he  had  found 
at  least  one  thing  calm  and  enduring.  At  their  parting 
he  had  no  regrets,  such  personal  and  now  petty-seeming 
sentiments  he  felt  he  had  left  behind,  though  the  thought 
of  meeting  again  warmed  him  with  pleasure. 

A  few  days  later  he  walked  into  Garloo  with  his  kit, 
slung  on  his  ax,  over  his  shoulder.     He  drew  money  at 


THEDESERT  227 

the  bank,  and  lunched  at  the  hotel,  taking  pleasure  in 
ordering  the  best  of  everything.  Then  in  the  evening 
he  strolled  down  to  the  station  and  took  train  for  Mt. 
Gerard. 

in 

At  Mt.  Gerard  John  did  not  stay  for  long,  finding  it 
too  populous,  also  very  expensive  to  live  in.  He  took 
train  on  to  Tharamecka,  which  is  at  the  head  of  the  line, 
where  he  heard  that  the  country  was  newly  opened  to 
prospectors. 

All  that  marked  the  station  at  Tharamecka  was  a 
small  shed  and  two  huge  tanks  raised  on  high  wooden 
supports.  Near  the  railhead  is  a  store,  about  which 
cluster  hessian  and  corrugated  iron  huts.  A  buggy  was 
standing  near  the  station  building.  Out  of  the  train  a 
prosperous-looking  man  jumped  and  hailed  the  buggy 
driver,  then  climbed  up  beside  him.  He  was  about  to 
give  the  order  to  drive  away  when  John  boldly  asked  him 
where  he  was  going. 

"  Out  to  the  '  Magenta  '  claim.  Have  you  business 
there?" 

"  Not  yet.     Is  there  a  job  to  be  got?  " 

The  stranger  eyed  him.  "  I  want  all  the  labour  I  can 
get." 

"  Are  you  Boss  out  there?  " 

"  I'm  a  partner." 

"Will  you  take  me  out?  " 

"  All  right,  jump  up." 

The  stranger,  whose  name  was  Stephens,  tried  to  per- 
suade John  to  work  for  him  by  agreement  for  a  three 
months'  span,  but  John  wished  to  keep  his  independence, 


228  THE     MAINLAND 

having  an  idea  that  he  would  like  to  do  some  prospecting 
on  his  own.  He  wanted  the  excitement  of  the  element 
of  chance,  also  to  be  his  own  master.  He  agreed,  how- 
ever, to  work  for  a  couple  of  weeks  at  the  regular  wage. 

It  was  a  thirty-mile  drive  across  open  bush  country 
from  Tharamecka  to  the  "  Magenta  "  claim.  The  same 
red  granite  stretches  here,  as  further  west,  broken  only 
by  long  dykes  of  schist.  In  these  schist  dykes,  which 
were  often  fifty  or  sixty  yards  across  were  veins  of 
quartz  and  lesser  dykes  of  ironstone,  olivine  and  serpen- 
tine. Stephens  told  John  that  gold,  when  it  was  to  be 
found,  was  usually  in  these  latter.  The  country  was  flat 
except  for  the  slight  rise  of  the  long  parallel  dykes  which 
did  not  decompose  quite  so  rapidly  as  the  matrix  of 
granite.  Trees  grew  here  more  commonly  than  near  Gar- 
loo,  as  the  rainfall  was  more  certain,  also  underground 
water  was  frequent.  The  buggy  followed  wheel-tracks 
across  country,  where  a  cart  could  easily  be  driven  over 
the  bare  spaces  between  the  growth  of  vegetation. 

After  about  twenty  miles  they  came  on  the  camp  of 
some  prospectors  who  offered  a  share  of  their  evening 
meal.  They  did  not  stay  for  long,  but  it  was  on  the  dark 
side  of  twilight  by  the  time  they  reached  the  outskirts 
of  the  "  Magenta  "  camp.  They  drove  up  to  a  row  of 
tents  which  marked  head-quarters.  Stephens  jumped 
down,  and  after  putting  his  bag  in  his  tent,  walked 
towards  a  camp-fire  about  a  hundred  yards'  distant. 

Round  the  blaze  of  dry  wood  sat  a  ring  of  between 
twenty  and  thirty  men.  Their  attention  was  now  cen- 
tred on  an  elderly  man  of  about  sixty  who  stood  well 
forward  in  the  light,  talking  with  ingenuous  enthusiasm 
and  much  gesture.    The  men  were  listening  with  an 


THEDESERT  229 

amused  relish.  Stephens  had  approached  without  being 
noticed  by  many.  He  exchanged  nods  and  stood  back 
in  the  shadow  listening.  John  he  motioned  to  wait, 
saying  in  explanation,  "  It's  old  Gilbert  wound  up  for 
the  night.  Listen  to  him,  he's  a  rare  old  bird,  and  as 
mad  as  a  hatter." 

Gilbert  stood  in  the  firelight  smiling  and  gesticulating. 
The  irregularities  of  his  handsome  hawk-like  face,  deeply 
lined  from  years  of  hard  work  and  red  with  the  dust 
amongst  which  he  lived,  were  sharply  emphasized  by 
hard  lights  and  dark  shadows.  "  She  was  sitting  there 
without  moving,  her  great  face  like  a  brass  tower  on 
the  stern  of  a  battleship,  with  eight  eyes  on  it.  Yes, 
eight  eyes:  two  of  them  big,  and  one  biggest  of  all  in 
the  middle  of  her  forehead,  and  five  little  ones.  .  .  . 
And  round  each  eye,  which  was  red  like  a  ruby,  was  a 
double  row  of  warts  like  the  boss  on  a  shield,  and  in  each 
wart  was  a  tuft  of  spines.  .  .  .  And  no  expression  in 
the  whole;  but  dead  blank.  .  .  .  And  she  looked  at 
him.  No  wonder  he  was  nervous.  .  .  .  And  he,  with 
his  long  legs  and  his  little  skinty  body,  kept  dancing  to 
and  fro  and  sidling  up,  and  running  away,  and  putting 
out  one  of  his  long  claws  and  feeling  towards  her.  Then 
he  moved  round,  thinking  perhaps  she'd  look  better  from 
behind.  .  .  .  But  she  moved  round  with  him,  keeping 
her  face  to  him  without  moving,  leastways,  you  couldn't 
tell  how  she  moved.  So  he  kept  going  round,  and  the 
old  woman  looking  at  him  from  her  hairy  eyes.  You 
should  have  seen  him,  as  it  were,  pick  up  his  heart  in 
his  hands  and  come  running  up  amorous-like.  He  shot 
out  his  long  claw  and  stood  all  a-tremble  still."  Gilbert 
imitated  the  attitude.     "  She  didn't  move,  but  she  just 


230  THE     MAINLAND 

wagged  her  jaws  at  him  sideways  and  lifted  her  great 
whiskers  up  and  down  over  her  mouth.  That  was  too 
much  for  his  nerves  altogether,  he  fair  fell  over  back- 
wards with  fright.  '  Poor  devil,'  I  thought.  She  was 
a  terrible  woman  to  make  love  to.  After  that  the  gentle- 
man was  more  obsequious,  he  put  on  his  most  winning 
smile  and  kept  rubbing  his  hands  together  and  hopping 
on  his  long  hind-legs.  Then  he  came  cringing  up,  walk- 
ing as  it  were,  on  his  knees,  begging  her  to  have  pity 
on  his  love.  She  looked  at  him  from  out  of  her  great 
blank  face  and  I  could  almost  see  her  eyebrows  twitching." 
There  was  a  roar  of  applauding  laughter.  "  Go  on,  Gil- 
bert," some  one  shouted,  "  draw  it  mild."  "  Well,  if  it 
wasn't  her  eyebrows  twitching,  her  legs  were  getting  ready 
for  a  spring.  Then,  in  a  flash  she  was  on  him,  her  can- 
nibal jaws  biting  his  little  soft  body.  He  hadn't  time 
even  to  squeal.  She  devoured  him  whole,  leaving  only 
the  tips  of  his  legs,  that  were  dry  and  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  sucking." 

A  laugh  greeted  the  tragic  denouement.  Some  one 
asked :  "  How  did  you  come  to  think  of  all  that,  Gil- 
bert? " 

"  Think  of  it?     I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes." 
Now  that  the  story  was  over,  the  listeners,  who  had 
been  held  by  the  force  of  the  narrator's  delivery,  were 
inclined  to  adopt  a  jeering  attitude  to  Gilbert's  eccentric- 
ities. 

,  Stephens  now  stepped  forward  into  the  circle,  and  was 
greeted  by  nods  and  low  exclamations.  He  spoke  to 
Gilbert,  who  had  sat  down  and  was  shading  his  face  from 
the  flames  with  an  outstretched  hand.  "  Who  was  the 
lady?     I  missed  the  first  part  of  the  story." 


THE     DESERT  231 

"  A  great  woman-spider  I  was  watching  in  my  lunch 
hour,  and  a  little  bit  of  a  male  thing  that  knew  no  better." 

"  It's  lucky  thing  we  don't  do  our  courting  that  way," 
remarked  one  of  the  men. 

"  Men  take  longer  to  eat  up,"  replied  Gilbert  scorn- 
fully, "  and,  for  the  most  part,  they  squeal  out  more 
about  it." 

"  Don't  get  him  started  on  women,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
or  we'll  never  hear  the  end  of  it.  Spiders  are  enough 
for  one  evening." 

Stephens  had  sat  down  close  to  the  fire.  "  My  word, 
it's  cold  tonight,"  he  said.  "  One  half  of  me  is  roasted, 
and  the  other's  freezing." 

"  Yes,  we've  had  it  cold  these  last  few  nights  and  no 
mistake;  the  water  bottles  have  been  frozen." 

"Tell  that  new  Johnnie  I  brought  up  —  where  is  he? 
Oh,  there  you  are,  Sherwin.  You  better  get  some  extra 
blankets  from  the  storekeeper  —  that  smiling  rogue  over 
there,  who'll  charge  you  six  times  their  proper  price  — 
or  you'll  be  frozen  stiff  by  the  morning.  We  are  up 
pretty  high  here,  and  though  it's  baking  hot  by  day  it's 
damned  cold  by  night." 

John  showed  his  willingness  to  take  the  advice,  and  was 
led  away  by  the  storekeeper,  a  fat,  smiling  man,  who,  as 
good  as  his  reputation,  extracted  the  most  outrageous 
price  for  the  necessary  blankets.  After  they  had  bar- 
gained, John  took  the  opportunity  of  asking  about  Gil- 
bert. "  Oh,  he's  mad,"  chuckled  the  storekeeper.  "  Been 
in  the  bush  so  long  he  couldn't  live  anywhere  else.  He's 
gone  cracked.  God  knows,  he  come  from  Ireland,  some- 
where —  owns  a  brewery,  so  they  say,  and  is  worth  thou- 
sands.    He's  gone  gold-mad,  just  lives  for  the  sight  of 


232 


THE    MAINLAND 


the  yellow  stuff  round  the  dish,  though  he  has  no  value 
for  it  .  .  .  hasn't  washed  since  the  memory  of  man,  and 
stinks  like  an  old  bush-porcupine.  He's  happy  just  fos- 
sicking around.  He's  his  own  master,  and  knows  a 
damned  lot  about  gold  and  tin.  Knows  more  about  tin- 
ores  than  any  man  in  the  West.  Like  the  rest  of  us  he 
lives  on  the  hope  of  hitting  something  big  and  rich  one 
day,  though  what  he'd  do  with  it  God  alone  knows,  I'm 
sure  he  doesn't." 

For  a  while  longer  the  men  sat  close  to  the  fire  yarning 
of  mines  and  of  luck  that  they  had  had,  or  missed. 
Then,  as  they  became  cold  and  sleepy,  they  went  off  to 
their  tents.  John,  who  was  accustomed  to  sleeping  in 
the  open,  lay  down  under  a  mulga-bush,  rolling  himself 
tight  in  his  blankets.  He  felt  glad  that  he  was  once  more 
about  to  be  in  close  contact  with  men.  He  liked  the 
little  he  had  seen  of  Stephens  and  was  particularly  glad 
to  think  of  Gilbert  as  a  member  of  the  camp.  He  guessed 
that  the  observer  of  the  loves  and  deaths  of  spiders 
would  in  all  probability  prove  a  sympathetic  spirit,  none 
the  worse  for  his  reputed  madness.  Certainly  his  talka- 
tiveness would  be  a  contrast  to  Loo's  silence.  Of  this 
John  was  glad,  feeling  a  growing  desire  for  the  exchange 
of  ideas. 

IV 

The  "  Magenta  "  had  two  shafts  each  a  hundred  feet 
in  depth.  Parallel  galleries  were  now  being  cut  through 
green  iron-stone  which  was  wielding  two  ounces  of  gold 
to  the  ton.  This  was  nothing  very  brilliant,  but  Stephens 
had  hopes  of  richer  ore  before  long.     John  worked  for  a 


THEDESERT  233 

couple  of  weeks  in  the  main  shaft,  shovelling  broken 
rocks  into  buckets.  At  the  end  of  this  time  he  "  chucked  " 
work,  being  tired  of  the  monotonous  labour  underground, 
and  since  he  had  plenty  of  money  in  his  belt  decided  to 
prospect  around  for  himself.  He  bought  a  "  dolly,"  a 
mortar  and  a  hammer,  which,  with  a  couple  of  pans,  was 
sufficient  paraphernalia  for  a  start.  The  usual  hope  of 
all  novices  of  finding  "  a  colour  "  worth  working  began  to 
kindle  in  his  mind.  For  several  days  he  wandered  over 
the  country,  tapping  rocks  and  dollying  samples,  but  he 
had  no  sight  of  the  much  desired  yellow  dust  round  the 
rim  of  his  pan.  Each  night  when  he  returned  to  camp 
he  heard  exciting  reports.  A  vein  of  ore  had  been  struck 
which  was  yielding  at  first  six  ounces,  the  next  night  ten, 
and  in  a  few  days  even  twenty  and  thirty  ounces  to  the 
ton.  Stephens  was  radiant  with  excitement.  "  There  is 
plenty  of  the  stuff,"  he  said,  "  getting  better  and  better." 
He  prophesied  that  before  long  the  railway  would  be  out 
to  the  camp;  already  labour  was  pouring  in;  scores  of 
dust-stained  bushmen  come  to  prospect  along  the  ridge. 

John  felt  a  burning  eagerness  not  to  be  left  out  of  the 
rush  for  success.  He  was  surprised  that  he  should  sud- 
denly care  so  much  about  anything.  He  wanted  success 
badly,  also  had  the  good  sense  to  realize  that  he  would 
not  yet  be  strong  enough  to  hold  his  own  single-handed 
against  the  gangs  of  rough,  experience-hardened  charac- 
ters that  poured  into  camp.  Already  he  was  being  robbed 
for  everything  that  he  bought.  He  was  afraid  that  he 
might  lose  a  large  portion  of  his  money  before  being 
able  to  put  it  to  any  useful  account.  Although  several 
offers  of  partnership  had  been  made  him  by  shady-looking 


234  THE     MAINLAND 

characters,  who  suspected  him  of  possessing  money  which 
might  be  extracted,  he  had  sufficient  suspicion  to  warn 
him  against  the  integrity  of  average  human  nature. 

Of  all  the  men  in  the  camp,  he  could  feel  most  confi- 
dence in  Gilbert.  Gilbert,  he  felt  sure,  was  honest;  such 
extravagant  imagining  betraying  a  simple  mind.  Al- 
though he  had  not  seen  him  since  the  night  of  his  first 
arrival,  he  now  set  off  for  the  claim,  which  he  was  told 
was  three  miles  along  the  ridge.  He  found  Gilbert's 
tent,  a  ramshackle  affair,  red  with  age  and  dust,  guarded 
by  a  shaggy  dog  of  the  same  colour.  A  few  yards  distant 
was  the  high  parapet  of  a  trench.  In  the  trench  he  found 
Gilbert.  John  hailed  him  and  began  to  ask  questions 
about  the  claim  and  the  country. 

"  Yes,  a  good  line  of  stuff  has  been  here,  but  I've  lost 
it.     It  dips  down,  I  think.     I  shall  have  to  go  deeper." 

"  If  you  go  deeper  you'll  need  two  workers,"  suggested 
John,  "  one  to  fill  the  buckets,  and  one  to  haul  up." 

"  I  shall,  but  in  the  rush  that  there's  like  to  be,  if 
what  they've  got  in  the  Magenta  proves  as  good  as  they 
think,  every  man's  gone  off  his  head  in  anticipation.  The 
chap  I  had  working  for  me  is  off  '  fossicking  '  on  his 
own.  They  are  all  after  the  chance  of  finding  some- 
thing for  themselves."     Gilbert  spat  scornfully. 

"  Don't  you  think  they  will  find  anything?  " 

"Well,  they  might;  but  there  be  precious  few  that  do 
find  anything  that's  lasting  and  good.  This  of  mine  might 
have  a  rich  patch  lower  down.  It's  worth  working  all 
the  time,  though  I  expect  nothing  big  of  it." 

"Would  you  take  me  on  to  work  with  you?"  asked 
John,  abruptly  coming  to  the  point. 

Gilbert  looked  surprised  at  the  offer,  for  he  knew  that 


THEDESERT  235 

most  labour  was  snapped  up  for  work  at  the  main  shaft 
of  the  "  Magenta."  However,  it  was  not  for  him  to  en- 
quire into  motives;  he  was  in  luck  getting  the  offer.  He 
glanced  critically  at  John  before  he  answered,  then,  as 
though  accepting  casually,  "  To  be  sure,  if  you  want  the 
work." 

Their  agreement  was  of  the  ordinary  type,  and  the 
next  day  John  started  to  work  with  Gilbert  at  sinking  a 
shaft.  The  work  was  monotonous,  consisting  of  first 
breaking  the  rock  with  a  pick,  then  filling  the  fragments 
into  buckets  and  hauling  them  up  by  a  winch.  At  mid- 
day their  routine  was  broken  by  the  interest  of  testing 
samples.  For  twenty  feet  down  they  continued  to  find 
gold,  but  not  very  much;  then  it  suddenly  petered  out. 

Each  day  after  the  work  at  the  shaft  was  done  Gilbert 
and  John  would  go  rabbit  hunting  in  the  bush.  Rag, 
the  woolly  red  sheep-dog,  came  with  them,  and  John 
would  take  his  ax.  All  about  the  bush  are  scores  of  fallen 
trees  which  have  rotted  where  they  fell.  At  each  hollow, 
fallen  tree  that  they  came  to,  Rag  would  sniff  intel- 
ligently, and  if  there  was  a  rabbit  hiding  in  it,  he  would 
pause  at  the  exact  place  and  scratch.  A  few  strokes  of 
the  ax,  then  the  trunk  would  split  and  the  rabbit  be  seized. 

On  these  expeditions  Gilbert  talked  fluently,  telling 
fantastic  stories  of  things  seen  and  experienced.  He 
would  amuse  John  with  extravagant  accounts  of  animal 
and  bird  life,  talking  gaily  and  easily,  though  with  always 
a  touch  of  sarcasm  and  contempt  for  human  conventions, 
contrasting  them  disadvantageously  with  the  habits  of 
animals.  John  found  him  an  amusing  companion.  He 
was  certainly  not  like  other  men.  It  was  easy  to  under- 
stand his  reputation  for  madness.     This  was  due  to  his 


236  THE    MAINLAND 

fearlessness  of  human  opinion.  He  went  his  way  regard- 
less, living  the  life  he  found  good.  Animals,  he  would 
maintain,  were  more  sensible  and  worthy  of  respect  than 
men.  Often  he  pointed  histories  with  instances  of  their 
sagacity,  putting  man's  to  shame. 

In  the  meantime,  the  "  Magenta "  was  reaching  the 
height  of  its  fame.  Rich  veins  of  ore  had  been  found, 
which  as  yet  showed  no  sign  of  exhaustion.  Men  were 
rushing  in  from  all  parts  of  the  western  gold-fields,  too 
late,  of  course,  to  get  any  of  the  spoils,  but  hoping  to  find 
in  the  neighbourhood  some  equally  rich  ore-deposit.  The 
feeling  of  excitement  spread  up  and  down  the  ridge  for 
miles.  Each  day  men  would  pause  on  their  way  at 
Gilbert's  claim  and  ask  questions.  Gilbert  would  laugh 
at  them  after  they  had  gone,  and  say  how  he  would  sell 
them  his  claim  when  he  was  sure  there  was  nothing  else 
in  it,  maintaining  that  they  were  fools  enough  to  buy 
simply  for  position  on  top  of  the  ridge.  But  in  spite  of 
his  scoffing  he  began  to  get  restless.  When,  instead  of 
finding  richer  ore  as  he  went  down,  his  line  petered  out, 
he  suggested  to  John  that  they  should  take  a  day  off 
from  their  work  now  and  then  for  prospecting.  They 
could  not  be  away  much,  for  unless  Gilbert  continued 
to  work  his  claim  it  might  be  "  jumped."  John  was 
delighted  at  the  idea,  all  enthusiasm.  For  a  time  they 
worked  up  and  down  the  ridge,  but  found  nothing,  then 
one  Sunday  they  started  off  for  a  long  day-expedition 
across  the  low  granite  country,  hoping  to  come  upon  an 
outcrop  of  ore-bearing  rock. 

After  a  long  walk  they  came  to  a  narrow  ridge  run- 
ning parallel  to  the  one  they  had  left.  They  worked 
the  whole  length   of  it.     It  did  not   stretch   far,   being 


THEDESERT  237 

not  more  than  a  mile  in  length,  and  on  this  account 
had  been  overlooked.  After  chipping  off  many  pieces 
of  rock,  and  never  finding  anything  that  was  hopeful,  they 
were  deciding  to  go  back  when  John  saw  a  thin  line  of 
smoke  in  the  distance. 

"  Look  at  that  smoke,"  he  said. 

"Where?"  said  Gilbert,  in  sudden  excitement.  "It's 
a  burning  tree." 

"  Yes?  "  said  John,  not  understanding. 

"Well!  why  should  a  tree  be  burning  unless  as  a 
mark?     Come  on." 

They  made  toward  the  smoke,  finding  it,  as  Gilbert 
had  suspected,  to  be  a  burning  tree.  The  tree  had  fallen, 
but  the  stump  was  still  smouldering. 

"  Some  one's  lit  this,  for  certain.  Work  out  from  the 
centre.     Notice  everything  you  can." 

Soon  John  heard  a  cry  from  Gilbert.  He  ran  quickly 
to  where  he  was.  Gilbert  stood,  full  of  triumph,  with  a 
finger  stretched,  pointing.  In  front  of  him  was  a  mulga 
bush  with  a  bough  broken  and  twisted  upon  itself. 

"  Look  between  here  and  the  tree."  He  was  down  on 
hands  and  knees  now.  "And  here  are  broken  stones!  " 
he  exclaimed.  He  spat  on  a  fractured  surface,  then 
scrutinized  it.  "  Not  much  there,  but  the  right-looking 
kind  of  stuff.  Look,  it's  a  tiny  outcrop,  an  island." 
He  was  now  breaking  off  from  the  main  rock  chips  with 
his  hammer,   spitting  on  them  and  putting  them   aside. 

"  It's  not  very  good  on  the  surface;  but  who  knows  what 
it  may  be  like  underneath.  It's  the  right-looking  stuff. 
Look,  it's  running  this  way.  Work  along  and  see  if  you 
can't  find  any  more." 

John  soon  came  on  a  rounded  cap  of  rock,  from  which 


238  THE     MAINLAND 

he  broke  off  a  flake.  He  spat  on  it  as  he  had  seen  Gilbert 
do.  In  the  wet  surface  there  sparkled  some  tiny  yellow 
particles.  He  hurried  to  Gilbert  with  the  fragment.  The 
old  man's  eyes  shone,  his  hawk-face  wrinkled  with  emo- 
tion. "My  God!  that's  all  right.  It's  rich,  though  it 
may  be  small."  He  began  chipping  off  other  flakes, 
examining  them.  "  It  looks  like  another  tiny  island  right 
away  from  the  main  ridge.  Perhaps  it  joins  up  under- 
neath; there's  more  lower  down." 

For  a  time  they  worked,  chipping  off  flakes,  putting 
them  in  their  bags.  Gilbert  handed  a  stone  to  John. 
"  Look  there,  that's  better  than  ever.  We'll  peg  this  out 
tonight  before  that  fellow  who  lit  the  fire  comes  back. 
He's  a  fool  not  to  have  waited;  but  he  didn't  find  this 
rich  bit." 

John  set  to  work  with  his  ax,  cutting  some  stout  pegs, 
then  Gilbert  stepped  out  the  limits  of  what  he  considered 
the  extent  of  the  ridge.  He  waited  nervously  while  John 
drove  the  pegs  with  the  head  of  his  ax.  "  It's  a  pity 
to  make  a  noise,"  he  muttered,  "  though  we  are  so  far 
away.  Men  have  sharp  ears  at  a  time  like  this."  Then 
when  the  pegs  were  all  driven,  and  the  claim  written  out. 
"  We  must  keep  this  dead  quiet  till  the  surveyor  has 
been  here.  There  are  men  who'd  do  anything  for  a  chance 
like  this,  and  there's  that  fellow  who  burnt  the  tree.  I 
shan't  feel  safe  till  the  thing's  on  paper,  drawn  out  on 
the  map.  I've  been  fifteen  years  at  this,  and  I've  never 
seen  anything  that  looked  so  rich  on  the  surface." 

John  thrilled  with  excitement.  Although  he  was  in 
Gilbert's  employ  in  work  hours,  they  were  prospecting 
at  "  off  "  times.     He  was  now  on  equality,  and  knew  that 


THEDESERT  239 

by  the  law  of  the  bush  he  had  half-share  in  anything 
that  was  found. 

When  they  returned  to  camp,  they  made  a  long  circuit 
so  as  to  approach  from  another  direction.  On  their  way 
they  passed  near  a  group  of  men  who  were  out  rabbit 
hunting.  "  Walk  slowly,"  said  Gilbert,  slacking  his  pace. 
"  If  they  see  us  pacing  along  they'll  think  we've  found 
something,  and  might  track  us."  He  stopped,  and  began 
to  shake  a  bush,  and  then  walked  round  it,  peering  at 
the  ground. 

"  What's  that  for?  "  asked  John,  amused. 

"  They'll  think  it's  that  damned  old  fool,  Gilbert,  fos- 
sicking around  over  his  stick-insects  and  daddy-long-legs, 
trying  to  catch  all  the  fleas  in  the  camp." 

John  laughed,  and  they  strolled  on  slowly,  though  it 
was  difficult,  with  their  minds  so  vividly  at  work,  not  to 
quicken  their  pace.  At  the  camp,  Gilbert  insisted  that 
they  should  set  down  to  the  commonplace  task  of  pre- 
paring their  food.  John  was  all  for  "  dollying "  the 
samples,  but  Gilbert  would  not  allow  it.  "  If  we  were 
to  '  dolly  '  them  now,  we  should  have  half  a  dozen  fellows 
sniffing  round.  Listen,  they'd  say,  there's  Gilbert  '  dolly- 
ing '  some  stones  after  he's  been  out  all  day.  He  must 
have  found  something.  No,  we'll  take  them  to  the  shaft 
tomorrow  morning,  then  have  a  look  at  them." 

John  had  to  submit  to  the  reason  of  this  argument. 
He  became  infected  by  Gilbert's  caution.  His  excite- 
ment became  intense  through  being  controlled.  That 
night  he  lay  awake  thinking  of  the  new  claim,  building 
schemes  upon  the  wonderful  possibilities  of  success.  The 
thought  of  Mrs.  Cray,  from  long  habit,  mingled  with  the 


24o  THE    MAINLAND 

other  thoughts.  There  was  still  pain  and  regret  woven 
about  his  picture  of  her,  but  now  there  was  new  hope 
and  interest.  His  thoughts  roamed  back  again  to  the 
burning  tree,  to  the  broken  and  twisted  raulga-branch, 
and  to  the  four  stout  pegs  driven  into  the  red,  virgin  soil. 

V 

All  the  phases  of  excitement  within  the  bounds  of  dis- 
covery and  possession  crowded  upon  one  another  in  the 
next  week.  First  there  was  the  "  dollying "  of  speci- 
mens in  the  early  morning,  the  washing  of  the  broken 
rock,  and  the  bright  rim  of  gold  particles  which  stretched 
a  third  of  the  way  round  the  pan's  circumference.  Gil- 
bert bent  above  them,  crooning  with  delight,  shaking  the 
specks  of  yellow  metal  to  and  fro  amid  the  black  grains 
of  biotite.  There  followed  a  journey  down  the  line  and 
back;  the  surveyor  arrived;  then,  the  final  triumph  of 
their  hopes,  the  new  claim  was  marked  out  in  red  and 
white  upon  a  map.  All  had  gone  well,  no  one  had  sus- 
pected them,  their  pegs  had  not  been  moved,  and  none 
of  the  threatening  eventualities,  which  they  had  imagined, 
had  occurred.  Now  in  all  security  they  could  openly  go 
to  the  new  claim.  The  old  claim  was  sold.  All  para- 
phernalia, together  with  good  money's  worth  of  stores, 
was  packed  on  to  a  cart,  and  John,  in  the  first  triumph 
of  ownership,  drove  across  the  flats  of  granite  to  the  site 
of  the  new  claim. 

During  the  first  few  days  several  men  walked  over  to 
have  a  look  at  the  ridge  that  Gilbert  had  found.  Among 
them  came  Stephens  and  two  of  his  companions.  "  Well, 
Gilbert,  you've  struck  a  rich  patch  at  last,"  he  said, 
after  "  dollying  "  several  samples.     "  Of  course,  there's 


THE     DESERT  241 

no  telling  how  much  there  is,  but  what  there  is  is  good." 
Gilbert  was  too  old  a  hand  to  boast  or  to  seem  opti- 
mistic, he  knew  how  that  the  fine  gold  particles  could 
tempt  a  man  to  raise  high  hopes,  then  suddenly  dis- 
appear into  black  rock  like  the  powdery  tail  of  a  comet 
into  the  surrounding  night.  "  Ah,  nothing  like  the  '  Ma- 
genta,' "  he  replied.  "  But  that's  the  sort  of  luck  that  a 
man  should  meet  once  in  a  hundred  years." 

Stephens  shrugged  his  shoulders,  pleased  at  the  tribute. 
"Oh!  who  knows?"  he  said  generously,  though  he  felt 
pretty  certain  that  his  luck  was  not  to  be  rivalled.  In 
this  he  was  right,  the  "  Magenta  "  is  still  famous  in  the 
history  of  the  West,  while  "  Burnt  Tree,"  as  they  called 
it,  though  it  had  its  moment  of  splendour,  is  long  for- 
gotten. 

The  first  month  gave  to  Gilbert  and  John  their  best 
yields.  There  was  plenty  of  ore  within  two  feet  of  the 
surface.  The  gold  was  well  distributed.  Daily  the  num- 
ber of  the  sacks  of  ore  grew  greater.  Each  sack  they 
could  estimate  as  being  worth  about  five  pounds,  so  were 
able  to  count  their  fortune  as  it  came  warm  from  the 
earth.  As  the  extent  of  work  grew,  they  employed  at 
first  three  men  and  later  double  that  number.  Within 
a  couple  of  months  they  had  come  to  the  limit  of  the 
small  island  outcrop.  As  they  sank  shafts  and  drove 
galleries  to  deeper  levels  the  flush  of  gold  proved,  as 
Gilbert  had  feared,  faithless,  losing  itself  in  occasional 
sprays  of  fine  dust  in  the  less  acid  rock  foundation.  At 
the  end  of  three  months,  the  gold-bearing  rock  had  be- 
come so  scarce  that  they  discharged  their  labour,  though 
they  continued  to  work  on  themselves.  "  Burnt  Tree  " 
had  proved  typical  of  the  district:   a  small,  rich  claim 


242  THE     MAINLAND 

which  was  petering  out  and  was  now  almost  dead.  Gil- 
bert and  John  had  made  a  profit  of  between  five  and 
six  thousand  pounds.  The  exact  sum  would  not  be  known 
till  the  ore  had  been  through  the  mills. 

During  the  time  that  the  two  partners  had  been  working 
at  the  mine  they  had  come  to  understand  each  other  as  only 
men  who  live,  sleep  and  eat  together  out  in  the  wilds,  can 
understand  the  value  of  comradeship.  The  difference  of 
age  and  experience  seemed  somehow  to  count  as  a  small 
thing.  They  discovered  a  strange  affinity  founded  upon 
experience.  From  the  first,  Gilbert  had  perceived  in  John 
something  that  was  unusual.  There  was  a  quality  both 
naive  and  serious,  a  reserve  which  sometimes  betrayed 
itself  by  eager  flutterings,  suggesting  a  desire  for  closer 
intimacy,  but  which  drew  back  with  a  childish  show  of  sus- 
picion. Gilbert  could  guess  that  John  had  plunged  deep 
into  life,  and  had  come  bruised  from  the  contact.  He  was 
also  interested  to  find  how  limited  was  John's  experience, 
and  how  unknown  to  him  were  the  ordinary  forms  of 
human  life.  Once  when  they  were  sitting  before  the  blaze 
of  an  evening  fire  he  asked  John  who  it  was  who  had 
taught  him  his  wide  knowledge  of  woodcraft.  "  Have  you 
been  with  the  natives?  "  he  said.  "  For  it's  not  often  a 
white  man  has  your  eyes  for  seeing." 

"  Yes,  I've  known  natives." 

"  Up  on  some  back  station?  Perhaps  that's  where 
you've  come  from?" 

John  felt  a  sudden  impulse  to  tell  Gilbert  some  of  his 
story,  feeling  an  attraction  for  his  companion's  strange 
and  simple  personality.  "  I  was  on  an  island  up  on  the 
north-west  coast  with  my  father  and  mother  and  a  black 
boy  till  I  was  seventeen,"  he  said. 


THEDESERT  243 

"  Were  you  all  alone,  you  three,  with  the  black?  " 

"  Yes." 

Gilbert  appeared  much  interested,  seeking  to  take  in 
the  significance  of  this  solitary  upbringing.  "  What  have 
you  done  since?  " 

"  Wandered  about." 

"  It's  a  good  life,"  said  Gilbert  meditatively,  "  that, 
and  to  keep  quit  of  the  bonds  that  bind  a  man.  What 
made  your  father  go  and  live  in  so  solitary  a  spot?  " 

"  He  had  killed  a  man,"  said  John,  with  a  frankness 
that  seemed  surprising  to  himself.  He  somehow  knew 
that  Gilbert  was  absolutely  to  be  trusted. 

Gilbert  was  silent,  though  he  took  the  information 
with  no  show  of  surprise,  then  after  a  pause:  "  Perhaps 
it  was  a  blessing  to  him  to  be  quit  of  it  all." 

"  That's  what  he  told  me,"  said  John,  pleased  at  Gil- 
bert's understanding.  "  My  father  trusted  me.  He  was 
very  fond  of  my  mother;  they  live  there  still.  One  day 
when  I  have  all  the  money  I  want,  I  shall  go  back  and 
see  them." 

"You  think  he'll  be  proud  of  your  money?"  asked 
Gilbert,  with  an  amused  irony. 

"  It's  something." 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  something,  and  where  did  you  learn  to 
read  and  write  and  get  that  thoughtful  air  you  carry 
about  with  you?  Have  you  picked  that  up  since  you 
left  your  island?  " 

John  reddened,  feeling  a  pleasure  in  Gilbert's  ques- 
tioning and  a  desire  which  had  lately  been  growing  to 
tell  something  of  his  story.  "  I  went  up  pearling,"  he 
said.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  happened.  I'd  like  to  tell  you, 
though  no  one  else  knows." 


244  THE    MAINLAND 

He  told  his  story  simply,  while  Gilbert  listened.  Once 
or  twice  he  had  to  pause  to  keep  his  voice  steady,  he  was 
very  anxious  to  do  that.  Details  he  avoided,  as  likely 
to  cause  him  too  much  emotion.  He  spoke  in  broad 
statements.  At  the  end  Gilbert  looked  at  him  kindly. 
"  You've  had  better  luck  than  many,  my  boy,  and  worse 
too,  in  a  way,"  he  said,  by  way  of  comment.  "  By  God, 
you  have."  Then  with  a  smile,  "  And  now  you  are  after 
gold  for  a  change?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Should  we  make  some  money  at  the  claim,  as  looks 
likely,  how  would  you  spend  it?  " 

"  I  shall  travel  and  see  the  world,  and  see  the  towns. 
.  .  .  But  I  shall  stay  here  till  I  have  all  I  want." 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  go  to  the  towns?  Haven't  you 
seen  enough?  " 

"  I  have  seen  a  little  of  one  town  ..." 

"  They  are  all  much  the  same.  Some  are  bigger  than 
others  and  more  wicked.  What  should  you  want  money 
to  go  to  the  towns  for?  " 

John  thought  for  a  short  while.  "  I  want  money  be- 
cause it's  what  other  men  want,"  he  said. 

Gilbert  laughed.  "  That's  a  good  reason,  too.  I've 
spent  more  than  half  my  life  fighting  for  it  because  of 
that.  Now  I  don't  care.  Oh,  yes,  I  make  money,  but 
I  don't  care.  I've  got  the  habit  of  it,"  he  smiled.  "  My 
one  bad  habit  —  that,  and  the  love  of  gold." 

In  the  words,  John  could  read  more  than  their  surface 
value.  Gilbert  was  in  earnest,  and  smiling  with  an  odd 
embarrassment;  he  had  made  a  confession  which  to  him- 
self had  hardly  been  admitted.  John  could  guess  in  the 
silence  which  followed  that  the  love  of  gold  was  not  only 


THEDESERT  245 

Gilbert's  one  bad  habit,  but  the  sole  remaining  bond  which 
bound  him  to  the  ordinary  life  of  men.  After  a  while 
he  continued: 

"  I've  kept  myself,  one  way  and  another,  since  I  was  a 
brat  of  ten  years  old.  I  had  a  bad  mother.  At  home  I 
couldn't  stand  it,  so  I  ran  away.  On  a  farm  I  worked  at 
fourpence  a  week,  driving  the  plough  horses.  They  gave 
me  little  enough  food;  often  I  would  walk  along  crying 
of  the  cold  with  my  belly  empty,  poor  devil  of  a  kid, 
and  the  old  swine  of  a  farmer  flinging  stones  at  me  if 
I  didn't  drive  the  horses  fast  enough.  When  I  was  older 
and  strong  I  left  the  farm  and  took  to  navvying  on  the 
new  railroad.  I  had  better  money  then  for  my  labour, 
but  I  lived  hard.  I  slept  out  in  the  wet  and  cold,  night 
after  night,  yet  I  kept  my  health.  I  got  strength  for 
myself,  and  loved  my  own  freedom.  Ah,  I  grew  a  man 
then.  I  could  work.  The  women  didn't  let  me  forget 
that  I  was  a  strong,  well-liking  fellow.  I  was  free,  I 
didn't  see  the  great  danger  that  there  is  in  women.  I 
would  play  with  them,  flattered,  like  a  child  with  a  new 
toy,  not  knowing  the  fear  of  them. 

"  Then  I  went  to  the  town.  I  had  always  had  a  want 
for  learning.  At  a  big  newspaper-office  where  I  worked 
I  picked  up  how  to  read  and  write.  I  seemed  made  to 
get  on  those  days.  As  you  said  just  now  —  I  wanted 
money  because  other  men  wanted  it.     I  got  it  too. 

"  At  twenty-five  I  married.  My  wife  was  a  big,  strong 
woman  as  tall  as  myself  with  a  great  mass  of  hair. 
We  lived  small  at  first,  but  always  growing,  changing 
from  one  house  to  another.  I  lost  my  freedom.  I  was 
being  changed  against  my  will.  I  didn't  want  to  change. 
It  was  all  struggle  between  us.     I  was  fighting  then,  as 


246  THE     MAINLAND 

I'd  never  thought  to  fight:  for  my  life,  for  more  than, 
life.  I  learnt  then  the  danger  in  women.  Sex  is  the  curse 
of  our  lives.  .  .  .  My  wife  had  nine  children,  five  of 
them  died.  When  I  was  thirty-eight  my  wife  died.  She 
had  had  her  children  too  close,  so  the  doctor  said,  and 
that  was  what  had  killed  her.  At  that  time  I  was  junior 
partner  in  a  brewery  business.  I  had  made  my  way  to 
success,  though  every  year  I  was  losing  freedom.  .  .  . 
My  God!  I  hated  all  that  life,  but  was  not  able  to 
get  out  of  it.  When  my  wife  died,  I  seemed  able  to 
know  for  a  moment  where  I  stood,  but  the  business  was 
always  claiming  me.  I  had  money,  and  after  a  while 
every  one  took  it  for  granted  I  should  marry  again. 
For  four  years  I  kept  free,  but  at  forty-two  I  married  a 
young  wife.  It  was  her  prettiness,  her  smallness,  her 
tiny  hands  and  feet  —  she  was  so  unlike  the  first."  Gil- 
bert paused  and  spat  into  the  fire.  "  I  cared  for  her  more 
than  for  any  other  woman  I've  ever  set  eyes  on.  That 
made  me  weak  towards  her,  and  there  was  the  same 
struggle,  but  worse.  Everything  in  me  was  changing 
and  being  twisted  and  rounded  off,  blurred.  It  was  hell. 
She  had  no  soul,  was  like  a  flower,  empty  and  naked, 
and  no  shame,  with  tears,  and  little  soft  ways  to  make  a 
fool  of  me.  Sometimes  I  would  let  fly  at  her,  and  curse 
her  and  go  off,  letting  everything  go;  but  all  the  while 
I  was  away,  I  was  tortured  by  the  thought  of  some  other 
man  making  up  to  her.  So  I'd  come  back  and  carry  on 
the  business.  I  was  senior  partner  then,  and  a  rich 
man.  I  kept  in  the  town  and  never  went  out  to  my  old 
haunts.  I  was  ashamed  to  meet  with  my  old  self  out  of 
doors. 

"  Then  one  day,  after  three  years  of  it,  I  had  the  good 


THE    DESERT  247 

sense  to  clear  off.  I  left  everything  to  my  wife;  took  a 
hundred  pounds  and  came  out  here.  I  came  straight 
up  to  the  gold-fields.  I  seemed  to  know  that  they  claimed 
me.  Sometimes  I've  worked  at  tin  up  at  Pilbura,  but 
it's  really  gold.  I  love  the  sight  of  this  yellow  dust. 
For  fifteen  years  I've  been  free  again,  as  I  was  when  a 
young  man,  free  of  the  curse,  do  you  understand? 

"  It's  a  good  life!  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  up  at  John 
with  a  smile  of  contentment.  "  I  send  all  the  money 
home.  I  don't  need  it.  My  wife  was  always  one  for  a 
show.  She  spends  it,  but  I  never  let  her  know  where  I 
am.  My  word!  "  he  laughed.  "  If  she  saw  me  now, 
red  with  dust,  she'd  never  own  me.  A  dirty  old  groper 
—  well,  thank  God!  " 

"  Do  you  send  all  your  money  back  and  never  know 
what  happens  to  it?  "  asked  John,  not  quite  knowing 
how  to  comment  on  Gilbert's  story. 

"  Yes,  all  but  what  I  need  for  living,  and  that's  little 
enough.  I  have  no  use  for  it.  What  I  like  to  see  is  the 
dust  in  the  pan.  First  in  the  broken  stone  you  can  see  it,, 
it's  a  fine  sight;  then  when  it's  broken  in  the  pan  with 
the  water,  and  you  know  that  the  gold  may  be  there 
hidden."  Gilbert  produced  the  rocking,  swaying  move- 
ment with  his  hands.  He  stroked  the  flat  of  his  thumb 
over  imaginary  broken  particles.  "  First  the  greater  and 
the  bigger  lumps  come  off;  now  the  smaller  ones,  and 
underneath  is  the  fine  black  dust  all  wet  with  the  gold 
sparkling  in  it."  He  smiled  at  John  apologetically  at  his 
own  extravagance.  "  One  time  I  used  to  dream  about 
it.  I  do  sometimes  now,  and  every  year  the  love  of  it 
gets  stronger." 

John  laughed  in  sympathy. 


248  THE     MAINLAND 

"  It  doesn't  blind  me  any  longer.  I  don't  keep  the 
money  it  brings.  I  don't  want  it.  It's  just  the  gold  I 
love  the  sight  of.  .  .  .  There's  not  a  man  who  doesn't 
live  by  some  delusion,  and  not  many  of  them  see  the 
other  side  of  their  own  minds.  With  animals  it's  different, 
they  just  live  without  reason  or  delusion.  Everything  is 
simple.  But  man,  he  understands  or  half  understands. 
Things  have  grown  up.  He  wants  their  measurements, 
and  sets  values  on  all  his  pleasures.  Sex,  that's  what 
gives  everything  a  twist.  That's  the  curse.  Women  don't 
understand;  in  that  they  are  like  animals.  Simpler. 
But  the  curse  is  on  them  too.  It  breaks  their  bodies,  not 
their  spirit." 

"  Sometimes  their  spirit,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,  but  not  often  —  a  man  it  destroys." 

"  Unless  he  runs  away?  "     John  questioned  doubtingly. 

Gilbert  nodded.  "  Then  he  might  find  something  to 
fill  the  empty  place,  money  or  gold,  or  the  naked  pleasure 
of  shaking  out  the  next  pan  full  .  .  .  Why,  I'm  tired  of 
this  thing  we're  at  here,  already.  I  want  something  new. 
This  is  a  great  country:  unexplored  and  full  of  metals 
—  miles  of  it  untrodden.  That's  where  I  want  to  be." 
Gilbert  waved  his  arm  widely  towards  the  East. 

There  in  the  lilac  and  mauve  distance  of  that  great 
unexplored  country  John  also  had  dreams  of  wandering; 
for  him  if  was  not  to  be  the  end  and  all-sufficing  climax 
of  experience,  but  the  beginning.  He  could  understand 
Gilbert  —  this  old  man  wearied  with  the  distractions  of 
materialism,  though  alive  with  the  spirit  of  freedom  — 
could  sympathize  with  his  desire  for  renunciation  and 
the  untrammelled  liberty  of  poverty,  while  he  himself 
was  feeling  the  promptings  of  power,  ripening  for  adven- 


THEDESERT  249 

ture  among  mankind.  His  strength  was  growing  within 
him.  He  had  the  capacity  to  gauge  something  of  the 
adventure  of  life.  The  sex  impulse  he  recognized  as 
something  profoundly  dangerous,  with  a  danger  that  might 
show  itself  in  almost  any  direction.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
curse  of  life,  as  Gilbert  had  said.  His  instinct  would 
make  him  cautious  in  future,  but  youth  and  power  were 
pulsing  in  his  veins  with  new  assurance.  In  his  first 
contact  with  the  complex  life  of  the  mainland  he  had 
proved  himself  a  failure  and  a  weakling.  When  the 
time  came  for  him  to  go  again  into  the  world,  he  wished 
to  meet  mankind  with  the  conscious  knowledge  of  success. 

VI 

During  the  months  that  the  partners  worked  together 
there  had  grown  between  them  a  close  interchange  of 
thought.  Gilbert  found  satisfaction  in  having  a  com- 
panion who  would  listen  with  understanding  to  his 
philosophy  of  life.  To  be  considered  mad  by  the  men 
in  the  camp  was  no  great  hardship,  but  it  was  gratifying 
to  find  a  sanction  for  the  wisdom  in  his  madness.  He 
felt  a  pleasure  in  justifying  himself  to  the  younger  man. 
His  self-esteem  was  able  to  grow,  as  the  picture  drawn  by 
himself  —  a  free  spirit,  a  voluntary  renouncer  of  the  world 
—  took  definite  shape  before  John's  eyes. 

In  the  life  of  each  succeeding  day,  the  world  of  their 
experience  was  common.  To  both  men  the  silent  and 
soft  expanses  of  the  bush  was  a  home  adequate  to  satisfy 
all  temperate  needs  of  the  spirit.  In  the  presence  of  the 
untamed  life  of  plant  and  animal,  there  grew  up  a  spon- 
taneous understanding.  Gilbert  chatted  of  the  small 
things  that  long  observation  had  made  part  of  his  life, 


250  THE    MAINLAND 

and  John  could  trace  the  personal  thoughts  which  flick- 
ered in  his  companion's  brain.  Out  in  the  bush  on  these 
walks  together,  Gilbert  would  often  talk  for  hours  on 
end:  an  easy  wandering  monologue,  which  John  would 
listen  to  with  an  amused  interest,  following  the  thoughts 
and  back-thoughts,  so  hastily  succeeding  each  other: 
"  See  the  holes  of  the  bardi-grubs  in  the  roots  of  that 
bush  yonder.  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  the  grubs  that 
live  in  the  mulga  are  sweeter  to  taste  than  the  big  pink 
ones  out  of  the  yarra  ?  Perhaps  you've  never  eaten  bardi- 
grubs?  There  have  been  times  when  I've  been  glad  to. 
They  taste  best  cooked  by  the  side  of  a  fire.  You  can 
catch  them  by  putting  a  rough  stem  of  grass  or  spinifex 
up  their  holes  and  twisting  it  round.  The  grub  will 
be  tickled  on  his  backside  and  come  bucketing  out  back- 
wards with  an  important,  swaggering  air,  like  an  old 
gentleman  out  of  a  bank,  with  his  pockets  full  of  notes. 
He's  fine,  pale,  like  ivory,  and  smooth,  with  little  yellow 
breathing  holes  down  each  side,  like  the  port-holes  of 
a  ship,  each  with  its  brass  fittings.  Now  put  him  down 
carefully  by  the  side  of  some  hot  ashes.  He  stretches 
out  to  twice  his  usual  length,  and  when  he  boils,  he 
pops;  then  he  tastes  all  crisp  at  one  end  and  soft  at 
the  other,  like  almond-cream  running  into  fried  parsley. 
You  can  eat  them  raw,  but  they  flip  so  much  from  side 
to  side,  that  I've  no  fancy  for  their  dying  struggles  be- 
tween my  lips,  being  more  tender-hearted  than  Almighty 
God.  By  this  time,  though,  I  should  fancy  He's  dead, 
or  gone  sick  from  eating  the  same  kind  of  grub  over 
and  over  again.  .  .  .  They  make  a  fine  moth,  too,  in 
the  spring:  green,  with  big  wings  hanging  down,  all 
limp  over  their  backs  when  they  first  come  out  from  the 


THE     DESERT  251 

wood.  .  .  ."  He  would  chatter  for  hours,  half  to  him- 
self, half  to  John,  with  an  occasional  look  and  smile  in 
his  direction. 

The  time  passed  pleasantly.  John  came  to  be  very 
fond  of  Gilbert,  finding  a  relish  in  his  passing  references 
to  a  world  of  thought  as  yet  so  unexplored.  All  this  he 
loved.  He  could  understand  Gilbert's  contempt  for  the 
world  that  he  had  left,  his  open  cynicism  for  the  delusion 
of  men  and  his  own  obsession  for  the  glittering  gold- 
dust.  These  things  John  could  feel  were  adequate  and 
in  place,  but  they  were  not  sufficient  for  his  own  growing 
needs.  With  the  consciousness  of  power  to  direct  his 
own  course  he  desired  the  companionship  of  younger 
men.  Sometimes  he  would  be  tired  of  Gilbert's  con- 
versation and  walk  over  to  the  "  Magenta  "  camp.  There 
he  could  talk  of  the  growing  township.  By  this  time 
the  town  of  Magenta  was  half  built,  and  the  rail  from 
Tharamecka  completed.  Hundreds  of  prospectors,  wages- 
men,  and  sandal- wood  cutters  poured  past  the  railhead 
to  spread  out  over  the  newly  opened  country.  Among 
the  new  arrivals  John  met  a  young  fellow  from  the  south, 
obviously  new  to  the  fields,  whose  appearance  of  honest 
ingeunousness  marked  him  out  from  the  commercial  and 
experience-lined  faces  that  were  the  usual  type. 

Robert  Dixon  had  lived  the  typical  life  of  the  son  of  a 
small  prosperous  farmer.  His  father's  farm  was  on  the 
Marget  River  in  amongst  the  big  "  yarra "  forests  of 
the  south.  In  that  land  of  sleepy  shade  and  sunshine 
he  had  passed  an  uneventful  boyhood.  He  had  grown 
restless  under  the  pleasant  monotony,  and  at  last  after  a 
struggle  against  his  father's  authority  gained  permission 
to  go  wandering  for  adventure  out  into  the  world. 


252  THE     MAINLAND 

John  had  liked  him  at  first  sight.  They  had  talked 
together,  and  Dixon  had  come  back  to  "  Burnt  Tree  " 
camp  where  he  had  stayed  for  a  night.  After  this  their 
friendship  quickly  grew  up.  They  took  days  off,  wan- 
dering in  the  bush  with  their  hammers  and  bags  for 
samples  of  stone.  Gilbert  sometimes  came  with  them, 
but  often  they  would  go  alone. 

At  the  end  of  four  months  it  became  obvious  to  Gilbert 
that  there  was  not  much  more  gold  to  be  taken  out  of  the 
"  Burnt  Tree "  claim.  He  suggested  that  they  should 
sell  the  claim,  the  position  of  which  had  some  value, 
and  the  ore  already  extracted  as  a  single  lot.  They 
approached  Stephens  with  the  suggestion,  and  after  some 
bargaining  agreed  to  the  sale  for  five  thousand  five  hun- 
dred pounds.  This  saved  the  arduous  process  of  seeing 
the  ore  through  the  mills,  and  left  each  of  them  with 
two  thousand  five  hundred  in  pocket  after  all  expenses 
had  been  paid.  "  There  was  no  fortune  in  that,"  Gil- 
bert remarked,  "  but  still,  it  was  not  so  bad." 

For  some  days  they  remained  in  the  camp,  then  Gil- 
bert suggested  a  fresh  start.  It  was  not  till  the  sug- 
gestion came  that  John  realized  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  bury  himself  once  more  in  the  bush  with  Gilbert. 
He  felt  he  wanted  the  warmth  of  some  kindred  enthu- 
siasm. He  wanted  for  companion  a  younger  spirit,  some 
one  who  could  share  with  him  his  dreams  of  fortune 
and  power.  "  No,  I  shall  wait  here  for  a  bit,"  he  had 
said. 

Gilbert,  who  understood  at  once,  smiled  genially. 
"  Well,  good  luck  to  you.  I  see  you're  for  the  towns  and 
all  the  world  of  folly.     Good  luck." 

John  wrung  the  hard,  red  hand  held  out  to  him.     A 


THEDESERT  253 

feeling  of  affection,  that  was  almost  painful,  for  this 
lonely  man  claimed  by  the  yellow  dust  of  his  washing- 
pan,  contracted  his  heart;  and  yet,  as  with  Loo,  he  was 
glad  to  say  "  good-bye."  He  felt  that  he  was  parting 
with  a  stage  of  his  life  that  was  for  ever  past.  Now  he 
must  live  in  the  warmth  of  hopes,  new  born,  firmly  rooted 
in  the  consciousness  of  power. 

vn 

Not  many  days  after  Gilbert  had  wandered  off  into 
the  bush  with  his  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  John  bought 
a  horse  and  cart  that  he  and  Dixon  might  make  some 
long  prospecting  expedition.  John  arranged  to  pay  all 
expenses  of  outfit,  stores,  etc.,  and,  since  he  was  the 
pioneer,  and  by  now  the  experienced  bushman,  it  was 
agreed  that  three-quarters  of  any  find,  that  either  of  them 
made,  should  fall  to  him.  With  a  horse  and  cart  they 
would  be  able  to  carry  material  for  a  long  expedition. 
They  planned  to  follow  up  a  line  of  water-holes  which 
John  had  discovered  leading  eastward.  From  time  to 
time  they  would,  of  course,  have  to  return  for  more 
stores,  but  would  be  fairly  free  to  make  deep  explorations 
into  the  surrounding  country. 

When  the  two  young  men  came  to  the  end  of  the  track, 
which  led  outward  from  the  town  of  Magenta  and  some 
eight  miles  deep  in  the  bush  stopped  abruptly,  they  both 
felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  at  plunging  into  unknown  coun- 
try. "  Out  ahead  of  us,"  said  John,  "  there  is  a  land 
which,  perhaps,  has  never  been  trodden  by  white  men. 
There'll  be  natives,  of  course,  but  only  a  few.  There's 
just  miles  of  fiat  bush  like  this  for  further  than  we  can 
possibly  go." 


254  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Well,  I  trust  to  you  to  find  the  way  back,"  laughed 
Dixon,  "  and  to  talk  to  the  natives,  if  they  come  spearing 
us." 

"  All  right,  Bob,  don't  be  anxious.  I've  been  in  this 
sort  of  country  for  more  than  two  years.  I'm  pretty 
sure  by  this  time.  I  can  feel  my  direction,  just  as  Gil- 
bert can." 

"  I'll  learn  it  too  before  long,  I  expect,  but  it's  so 
different  from  the  big-treed  country  down  south.  In  the 
forest  there  is  usually  a  blaze  or  something  to  guide  one. 
Here  the  whole  land  is  so  flat  and  lonely,  and  still, 
except  for  those  '  cock-eyed  '  winds  that  are  always  dodg- 
ing about." 

"  Yes,  it  is  lonely,"  said  John,  "  but  you  get  to  like  it, 
I  expect.  I  can't  fancy  any  forests  being  as  beautiful  as 
this." 

"Oh!  you  wouldn't  say  that  if  you  slept  out  in  the 
forests  as  I  have,  and  woke  in  the  early  morning  and 
lain  on  your  back  looking  up  the  great  pink  and  yellow 
stem  of  a  tree  that  rises  a  hundred  feet  clear  without  a 
branch;  and  then  seen  the  sunlight  come  softly  through 
the  leaves  on  the  spreading  fan-shaped  branches,  dappling 
the  dark  patches  of  bark." 

"  Is  it  all  forest  down  there?  "  asked  John.  "  I've 
seen  plenty  of  trees  in  the  north,  but  nothing  very  tall." 

"  No,  there  are  big  clearings  where  there  are  home- 
steads, and  wide  stretches  of  grass-lands  and  sometimes 
marsh,  but  there  are  miles  of  huge  yarra  trees  that  have 
never  had  an  ax  near  them." 

"  Have  you  lived  there  always?  " 

"  Yes,  till  a  month  ago." 

John  remembered  his  own  experience  on  Kanna  Island 


THEDESERT  255 

and  his  urgent  desire  to  escape  into  the  world.  Dixon 
was  much  his  own  age,  perhaps  a  little  older;  but  John 
felt  that  his  seniority  was  inevitably  decided  by  the 
weight  of  several  years  of  experience.  "  I  suppose  your 
people  have  always  lived  there?  "  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  Well,  I'm  the  third  generation.  My  mother's  father 
was  one  of  the  first  settlers  who  came  out  from  England. 
The  whole  country  then  looked  like  this  bush  does  to 
us.  It  was  wild,  with  swarms  of  natives.  The  white 
men,  and  some  of  them  had  families  with  them,  like 
my  grandfather,  landed  from  their  ships  as  best  they 
could  and  lived  for  a  while  just  where  they  landed,  on  a 
narrow  strip  of  the  coast." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  said  John.  "  Were  they  the  first 
white  men  on  the  mainland?  " 

"  Yes,  among  the  first.  Of  course,  I've  only  heard 
stories,"  Bob  apologized.  "  I  know  they  had  difficulty 
in  making  friends  with  the  natives.  They  lived  on  what 
they  could  shoot  of  kangaroos  and  emus,  of  which  there 
were  plenty,  and  flour  they  had  from  the  ships.  After  a 
while  they  made  friends  with  the  natives  and  built  huts 
just  over  the  sand-dunes.  Then  they  brought  their  stock 
ashore.  They  had  brought  cows  and  goats  in  the  ships 
with  them.  Some  of  them  began  to  spread  inland,  but 
the  difficulty  was  to  find  water  and  good  pasture.  The 
way  they  found  the  farm  where  my  grandfather  and 
mother  lived,  and  which  my  Uncle  Hastie  has  now,  is 
the  story  which  is  always  told.  The  farm  is  called 
'  Cattle-chosen,'  and  is  quite  close  to  our  place.  When 
they  were  all  living  down  on  the  beach  together,  one  of 
the  cows  got  loose  and  was  lost.  Some  time  later  there 
was  a  big  bush  fire  which  spread  right  down  to  the  beach 


256  THE     MAINLAND 

and  burnt  all  the  settlement.  They  had  then  to  look 
for  a  new  place  where  there  was  pasture  unburnt.  My 
Uncle  Hastie,  who  was  a  boy  then,  went  out  with  a 
native,  who  said  he  knew  the  country.  They  wandered 
in  the  bush  for  some  time  and  at  last  came  on  a  green 
valley  with  long  grass;  and  there  they  found  the  lost 
cow  with  a  calf  that  had  been  born,  both  of  them  quite 
well.     That's   where   they   moved   to;    and   have   stayed 


ever  since." 


"  So  that's  why  it's  called  '  Cattle-chosen,'  "  commented 
John.     "  There  was  luck  in  that." 

Bob  talked  on,  pleased  to  talk  of  the  country  and  the 
home  that  he  had  left.  John  received  a  picture  of  the 
farm  life  with  its  pleasant  monotony  of  existence.  It 
was  something  very  different  from  anything  he  had  yet 
encountered  on  the  mainland.  He  felt  attracted  by  his 
friend's  easy  account  of  mother,  brothers  and  sisters. 
Farm  life  on  the  Margaret  River  must  be  something  very 
pleasant,  different  in  its  atmosphere  of  homely  prosperity, 
from  anything  he  had  experienced. 

As  the  days  and  weeks  passed  and  the  two  friends 
wandered  over  virgin  stretches  of  bush  country  they  be- 
came impelled  towards  a  close  intimacy  by  the  still  in- 
fluence of  the  land  which  stretched,  always  the  same,  al- 
ways wide-eyed,  with  a  strange  youthfulness,  on  all  sides. 
They  both  talked  of  their  past  lives,  though  John  forbore 
to  mention  his  relationship  with  Mrs.  Cray  or  any  of  his 
more  intimate  experiences.  Though  he  had  spoken  to  Gil- 
bert of  these  things,  he  now  preferred  to  remain  silent.  It 
was  pleasant  to  let  life  take  its  surface  value.  There 
was  always  the  pleasure  of  the  search,  the  dollying  of 
samples,  and  in  the  evenings  or  early  morning  the  long 


THE     DESERT  257 

and  patient  stalks,  rifle  in  hand,  after  the  wary  bush 
turkeys. 

The  ridges  of  schist,  that  first  they  came  to,  were  quite 
barren  of  ore,  though  they  worked  thoroughly  the  various 
cross  dykes  of  black  iron-stone.  They  struck  further  east- 
ward, coming  on  small  deposits,  but  nothing  good  enough 
for  their  hopes.  John  was  not  to  be  satisfied  with  some- 
thing small,  but  was  looking  for  a  big,  rich  thing  that 
would  make  it  worth  while  to  bring  out  the  railway. 
So  always  they  wandered  on  and  on,  covering  wide 
stretches  of  country,  happy  in  the  open  life,  becoming 
daily  more  the  enamoured  slaves  of  the  bush.  "  I  shall 
be  a  regular  '  groper '  before  I'm  thirty,"  John  had  said. 
"  I  can  understand  Loo  and  Gilbert;  but  I  shan't  really 
be  like  that.  I  want  to  go  everywhere  and  see  things,  and 
know  what  life  is  really  like  on  the  mainland." 

A  find  big  enough,  at  first  showing,  to  satisfy  John's 
estimate  of  what  was  worth  working,  was  not  found  till 
after  an  eighteen  months'  wandering.  Then  one  day,  at 
the  furthest  limit  of  a  long  expedition,  they  came  on  a 
white-capped  ridge  of  acid-rock  in  which  were  veins  of 
gold-bearing  quartz.  There  was  plenty  of  rock,  and  the 
veins  seemed  wide  and  deep. 

John  and  Dixon  made  a  big  claim,  including  all  the 
cap  of  the  ridge.  Soon  they  employed  six  men  to  work 
under  them.  The  number  grew  as  the  shafts  deepened. 
The  claim  looked  as  if  it  would  be  good,  and  although 
nothing  like  so  brilliant  as  the  "  Magenta,"  it  promised 
to  justify  itself.  John  didn't  mind  how  far  he  plunged 
in  expenditure.  He  believed  now  in  his  luck.  It  had 
been  a  long  time  coming,  he  felt,  but  now  it  was  sure. 

"  White  Rock  "  developed  steadily.     It  was  not  very 


258  THE     MAINLAND 

rich,  but  there  was  plenty  of  it.  Very  soon  the  two 
partners  received  offers  which,  though  they  considered 
them  inadequate,  were  by  no  means  uncomplimentary. 

The  life  of  sudden  excitement,  after  the  long  months 
of  search,  the  travelling  to  and  fro  between  Magenta 
and  the  mine,  involved  by  his  position  of  boss,  the  con- 
gratulations of  old  acquaintances  and  their  ill-concealed 
envy,  and,  best  of  all,  the  eagerly  expected  news  at  the 
end  of  each  journey,  tasted  as  the  sweet  wine  of  life. 
This  was  the  success .  of  which  he  had  dreamed.  New 
hopes  and  activities  quickly  sprang  into  being.  Once 
end  of  each  journey,  tasted  as  the  sweet  wine  of  life, 
and  had  lost;  now  with  the  riches  given  by  gold  and 
power  within  his  grasp  he  would  take  the  sweet  things 
that  life  offered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE    BEATEN    TRACK 


FAR  out  into  the  desert  wherever  the  hunt  for  gold 
has  led  the  way,  the  gay  superficiality  of  civilized 
life  has  thrust  out  colonies  which,  regardless  of 
any  quality  inherent  in  the  land  that  they  have  invaded, 
flourish  with  all  the  arrogance  of  commercial  success.  At 
such  mining  centres  as  Mt.  Gerard,  Redsand  and  Garloo, 
there  exist,  as  yet  in  rather  a  primitive  state,  but  never- 
theless with  the  usual  self-importance,  all  the  etceteras 
of  society  life.  There  are  tennis  parties,  dances,  clubs, 
lending  library,  cinemas  and  the  rest;  each  on  a  small 
scale,  but  following,  as  tradition  has  ordained,  the  accus- 
tomed round,  and  thus  producing  the  artificial  sparkle 
so  necessary  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  the  white  man  when 
placed  amidst  surroundings  whose  peculiar  significance 
he  does  not  wish  to  understand,  or  even  to  see. 

Mt.  Gerard,  which  is  at  the  junction  of  the  lines  to 
Tharamecka  and  Redsand,  is  the  largest  town  on  the 
Lyell  Gold-fields.  Here  are  situated  the  large  crushing 
mills  to  which  ore  is  brought  in  from  the  country  round. 
In  the  town  itself  there  are  Government  offices,  a  mining 
school,  several  banks  —  also  some  large  and  comfortable- 
looking  houses,  the  property  of  millowners,  Government 
officials  and  bank  managers.     There  is  a  big  hotel  with 

259 


260  THE    MAINLAND 

electric  light  and  other  modern  luxuries,  also  with  ex- 
tensive tennis-courts  of  excellent  quality  made  of  the 
hard  cement  taken  from  the  nests  of  white  ants.  The 
hotel,  named  "  The  St.  Quintin,"  after  one  of  the  oldest 
mines,  has  also  a  large  ballroom,  hung  about  with  mir- 
rors and  illuminated  globes,  screened  by  glass  pendants. 
Close  to  the  tennis-courts  there  is  a  garden,  whose  water- 
ing alone  is  said  to  cost  five  pounds  a  week.  This  one 
green  oasis,  in  the  midst  of  red  dust,  is  enclosed  by  a 
high  wall.  In  the  garden  there  is  a  green  lawn,  famous 
in  the  neighbourhood,  also  several  English  plants  which 
are  pointed  out  for  the  admiration  of  visitors. 

Besides  the  "  St.  Quintin  "  there  are  three  other  hotels 
and  several  coffee  palaces.  There  is  a  double  row  of 
glaringly  new  and  ugly  shops  which  line  a  street  planted 
on  either  side  with  pepper  trees.  Beyond  the  main  street 
are  others  less  pretentious,  usually  peopled  by  numbers 
of  goats,  who  seem  to  have  eaten  every  leaf  of  cactus  or 
dry  grass,  which  might  once  have  graced  the  landscape, 
and  now  out  of  sheer  ennui  are  eating  the  coloured 
labels  off  discarded  jam  tins.  On  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  there  is  a  long  line  of  dust  pyramids  made  of  the 
minute  fragments  of  rock  which  the  mills  have  crushed. 
This  chain  of  hills  is  constantly  varying  in  shape  and 
size.  It  is  added  to  by  the  continuous  working  of  the 
mills  and  depleted  by  the  hot  winds  of  summer.  These 
sweep  away  the  dust  in  dense  clouds,  whirling  it  through 
the  town,  forcing  it  into  the  smallest  cracks  and  crannies. 

When  the  weather  is  not  too  hot  and  the  winds  are  not 
blowing,  life  is  by  no  means  dull  at  Mt.  Gerard.  The 
hotels  are  usually  full.  There  is  plenty  of  money,  plenty 
of  women,   and  consequently  no  lack  of  entertainment. 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  261 

The  chief  life  of  society  is  centred  round  the  two  clubs, 
the  "  Blue  Star  "  and  the  "  W.  A."  These,  like  the  "  St. 
Quintin,"  are  patronized  chiefly  by  the  wealthier  men 
who  represent,  not  only  Mt.  Gerard,  but  all  the  shifting 
population  of  the  gold-fields. 

When  John  arrived  at  Mt.  Gerard  to  see  the  first  con- 
signment of  ore  from  "  White  Rock  "  through  the  mills, 
he  looked  in  his  dusty  blue  shirt  and  trousers  the  typical 
bushman.  He  had  been  five  years  wandering  in  the 
desert  since,  clinging  to  the  underside  of  a  railway  coach 
he  had  left  Ruperttown.  In  that  time  he  had  known 
solitude  and  its  healing  quality.  Also  he  had  come  to 
know  himself  in  the  limitations  of  his  own  power.  He 
had  tasted  friendship  and  success,  and  was  now  his  own 
master,  boss  of  a  prosperous  concern. 

On  his  journey  down  the  line,  he  had  anticipated  with 
pleasure  the  life  that  was  before  him.  He  knew  that 
when  once  he  began  seeing  his  ore  through  the  mills  it 
would  take  up  his  time  both  night  and  day,  so  he  had 
purposely  come  ten  days  in  advance.  Stephens,  who 
had  been  out  on  a  visit  to  "  White  Rock  "  and  had  lately 
become  intimate  with  John,  had  urged  him  to  come  early 
so  that  he  might  be  introduced  to  some  friends  of  Stephens, 
influential  fellows  on  the  gold-fields,  also  to  some  pretty 
girls. 

When  John  arrived  at  the  station,  Stephens  was  there 
to  meet  him.  "  I  must  take  you  round  to  my  tailor's," 
he  said,  after  their  first  greetings,  "  and  see  that  you  are 
fitted  out  with  some  decent  clothes.  You  can't  stay  at 
the  '  St.  Quintin  '  in  that  rig.  All  right,  I  can  lend  you 
something  till  you  are  ready."  At  the  tailor's  John 
ordered  the  necessary  white  silk  suits,  then  went  with 


262  THE     MAINLAND 

Stephens  to  the  hotel,  where  he  enjoyed  thoroughly  the 
change  to  sudden  luxury  from  the  rough  life  of  the 
bush.  Stephens  was  greatly  amused  at  his  ingenuous 
pleasure  over  the  hot  and  cold  water  laid  on  in  the 
bedrooms.  He  chaffed  John  over  his  interest  in  electric 
lamp  globes  and  their  remote  switches,  which  still  carried 
a  remembrance  of  the  first  night  on  the  mainland  at 
Flynn's  Inn. 

At  dinner  that  evening,  John  was  introduced  to  the 
other  guests,  who  all  seemed  to  know  each  other  and 
Stephens.  There  were  about  fifteen  men,  some  of  them 
residents  in  Mt.  Gerard,  who  as  a  regular  practice  took 
their  meals  at  the  hotel,  and  about  the  same  number  of 
women.  Among  the  latter  was  a  Mrs.  Vance  and  three 
pretty  daughters.  They  all  talked  gaily  and  rather 
loudly,  seeming  thoroughly  at  home,  very  conscious  of 
their  good  looks  and  smart  clothes.  Mr.  Vance  was  man- 
ager of  one  of  the  banks.  He  and  his  family  were  regu- 
lar residents  at  the  hotel. 

John  was  excited  at  the  presence  of  so  many  people, 
yet  not  in  the  least  abashed.  He  felt  master  of  himself, 
being  full  of  confidence.  All  these  people  knew  (and  if 
they  didn't  know  already,  they  soon  would)  that  he  was 
the  successful  owner  of  "  White  Rock."  He  was  proud 
of  what  he  had  achieved,  and  was  pleasantly  stimulated 
by  the  thought  of  coming  to  know  all  these  people.  There 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  feel  embarrassed.  His 
early  pictures  of  human  relations  received  at  Ruperttown 
and  printed  for  always  upon  his  brain,  now  formed  a 
kind  of  sombre  background  which  enhanced  the  present 
gay  picture.  If  terror  and  despair  moved  always  as  the 
undercurrent  of  life,  it  was  fortunate  that  they  did  not 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  263 

often  show  themselves.     He  could  be  thankful   for  the 
bright  superficial  talk  that  buzzed  around  him. 

The  women  were  particularly  interesting.  Their  beauty 
came  almo3t  as  a  shock,  being  so  different  from  the 
austere,  veiled  quality  of  the  bush.  The  bright-coloured, 
soft,  flimsy  materials  in  which  they  were  dressed  gave 
him  pleasure,  so  also  did  the  thought  of  limbs  and  bodies 
enclosed  in  so  delicate  a  substance.  Both  sight  and 
thought  were  wonderfully  attractive,  but  a  deep  suspicion, 
not  to  be  eradicated  by  years  of  solitude,  warned  him  of 
danger.  The  warm  pulse  of  his  youth  answered  this 
warning,  telling  him  that  such  suspicion  was  in  no  way 
a  barrier  against  life,  but  rather  a  weapon,  a  shield  to 
guard  him  from  wounds.  He  was  only  vulnerable  to 
pain  and  such  injuries  as  he  had  received,  when  mind 
and  soul  were  open  in  the  rich  act  of  pouring  out  all 
their  most  cherished  possessions.  Now  that  he  had  but 
material  things  to  offer,  he  felt  very  strong  behind  the 
steel  shield  of  his  disenchantment.  Women,  of  course, 
were  wonderful  in  their  fresh  beauty.  He  did  not  wish 
to  deny  them  anything,  but  he  would  not  let  the  generosity 
of  his  own  imagination  clothe  them  with  riches  that 
were  themselves  imaginary.  Men  who  forwent  women 
were  either  fools  or  cowards.  He  remembered  Gilbert 
as  neither  fool  nor  coward,  but  then  he  had  had  his  ex- 
perience. In  him,  renunciation  was  ripe;  it  was  no  mat- 
ter of  lame  paws.  Women,  he  felt,  held  in  their  small 
soft  hands  the  very  pulses  of  life  itself.  They  were  man's 
strongest,  most  dangerous,  most  subtle  antagonists. 
Blood,  brain,  and  heart  told  him  how  much  was  to  be 
gained  in  that  struggle:  the  completing  of  the  male  sex 
in  him,  the  justification  of  his  stand  upon  life's  citadel. 


264  THE    MAINLAND 

His  past  losses  made  him  in  this  respect  more  confident. 
He  had  now  the  world's  riches,  nothing  so  very  precious, 
even  if  lost,  but  enough,  fully  enough  to  offer.  That 
he  should  experience  love  was  a  possibility  so  remote 
that  it  did  not  enter  his  mind.  It  was  sufficient,  that  in 
the  jolly  laughing  bodies  of  the  girls  near  him,  there 
was  attraction  and  the  same  strong  wave  of  life  that 
pulsed  in  his  own  veins. 

John  sat  during  dinner  next  to  Hilda  Vance,  a  pretty 
girl  of  twenty-four,  with  a  white  skin,  dark  hair  and  a 
vivacious  manner.  "  It  must  be  very  splendid  for  you 
to  be  boss  of  a  big  thing  like  '  White  Rock.'  Usually 
only  old  men  have  these  honours.  It  must  be  very  nice 
to  feel  it  all  belongs  to  yourself." 

"  It  isn't  all  mine,"  said  John.     "  I  have  a  partner." 

"  Yes,  but  you  have  the  bigger  share,  and  all  the  re- 
sponsibility. Where  is  your  partner?  He's  quite  young, 
too,  isn't  he?  " 

"  He's  stayed  up  at  '  White  Rock.'  I  came  down,  you 
see,  to  see  the  ore  through  the  mills." 

"  But  you've  got  some  days  first  to  look  round,  haven't 
you?  This  is  our  gay  time,  before  the  hot  weather  comes 
and  those  awful  winds.  I  expect  you  look  forward  to 
some  tennis  after  your  long  time  in  the  bush." 

"  I  can't  play  tennis,"  admitted  John. 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  learn.  It's  the  greatest  fun 
on  earth.  You  can  dance,  though,  I'm  sure.  There's 
going  to  be  a  dance  here  the  day  after  to-morrow.  And 
next  week  there  will  be  a  kangaroo  hunt.  That's  best 
fun  of  all;  you  are  bound  to  like  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  in  for  everything  there  is.     You  and 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  265 

your  friends  I  hope  will  be  kind  enough  to  teach  me  how 
to  play  tennis  and  dance.     I  know  how  to  ride." 

"  But  fancy  you  not  knowing  how  to  play  tennis. 
Where  had  you  been  to  before  you  went  gold  seeking?  " 

"  I'd  been  up  on  the  North  Coast  after  pearls  since  I 
was  eighteen.  Before  that  I  lived  away  on  an  island, 
and  never  saw  anybody." 

Hilda  Vance  had  already  spotted  John  as  some  one 
interesting  and  unusual.  "  You  must  have  had  a  strange 
life,"  she  said.  "  Then  have  you  never  been  at  a  place 
like  this  before?  " 

"  No,  this  is  my  first  experience." 

"  Oh  well,  you  will  enjoy  it.  There  is  so  much  to  find 
out." 

John  could  see  in  Hilda's  bright  and  frank  manner 
that  there  was  a  good  deal  that  she  had  already  found 
out.  He  liked  her  and  was  attracted  towards  a  certain 
hardness  of  fibre  that  he  could  discern  in  her  prettiness. 
He  was  pleased  by  the  ingenuous  way  in  which  she  looked 
at  him,  as  though  he  were  an  interesting  specimen  to  be 
judicially  played  with,  led  out,  made  to  display  himself 
in  the  warmth  of  her  smiles.  She  was  a  nice  girl,  he 
thought:  honest  and  old  enough  to  be  experienced  in 
the  ways  of  the  world.  He  was  lucky  in  finding  so 
pleasant  a  companion.  He  felt  that  the  world  was  to 
her  a  jolly  place  full  of  pleasing  adventure.  Her  garden 
of  Eden  was  rich  with  pleasant  fruit,  towards  which  she 
would  stretch  out  her  pretty  hands  as  the  fancy  took  her. 
She  had,  too,  a  hard  glitter,  which  pleased  him.  It  was 
sufficient  to  banish  all  fears  from  his  mind  of  a  possible 
mawkishness. 


266  THE    MAINLAND 

The  next  day  Hilda  took  him  in  hand  to  teach  him 
tennis;  but,  as  John  expressed  it,  he  was  a  mug  at  the  game 
and  soon  gave  it  up.  They  went  then  to  look  at  some 
horses,  kept  at  the  hotel,  and  finished  up  by  having  a 
ride  across  the  bush  together.  Hilda  rode  well  and  with 
obvious  pleasure.  She  won  John's  admiration  by  the 
way  she  put  her  pony  over  the  wide  stems  of  fallen  trees. 

"  It's  awfully  nice  of  you  to  give  up  your  tennis  when 
you  are  so  good  at  it,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  well,  riding  is  equally  good  fun.  I  feel  it  doesn't 
matter  what  I  do  so  long  as  this  fine  weather  lasts,  and 
it's  not  too  hot." 

John  felt  complimented  in  her  having  chosen  him 
as  her  companion.  It  gave  him  an  additional  confidence 
in  himself,  for  there  were  several  other  men  who  were 
good  tennis  players,  who  were  anxious  enough  to  pay 
her  attentions,  had  she  wished  for  them  as  partners. 

In  the  afternoon,  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  Hilda 
went  to  rest.  John  sat  in  the  spacious  smoking-room 
talking  to  the  men  and  sometimes  thinking  of  Hilda, 
getting  from  the  thought  the  sensation  caused  by  a  warm 
patch  of  sunshine  shining  upon  his  life.  It  was  a  com- 
fortable and  gratifying  sensation,  without  any  of  the  pain 
of  being  in  love. 

The  next  morning  John  rode  again  with  Hilda.  They 
found  plenty  to  talk  about,  though  their  conversation 
was  made  up  of  trivialities.  It  pleased  him  to  follow  the 
quick  workings  of  her  mind,  to  see  the  eager  way  she 
flitted  from  subject  to  subject.  From  the  first,  there 
had  been  between  them  a  sharp  sex  consciousness.  They 
were    both    good-looking,    clean-limbed    young    animals, 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  267 

thoroughly  alive.  All  the  physics  of  spontaneous  attrac- 
tion were  at  work.  John  found  himself  talking  some- 
times quite  fatuously.  He  didn't  care.  He  was  not 
really  fatuous;  he  was  talking,  not  for  the  sake  of  what 
he  was  saying,  but  for  the  sake  of  getting  near  by  an 
indirect,  yet  wholly  natural  process,  to  the  half- veiled, 
half-naked  substance  of  the  girl's  life,  which  at  sudden 
vital  moments  touched  him  with  throbbing  intensity. 
After  such  momentary  pulses  he  was  left,  eager  and 
baffled,  on  the  far  side  of  her  amused  laughter. 

That  evening  was  the  evening  of  the  dance.  John 
proved  as  big  a  failure  as  a  dancer  as  he  had  as  tennis 
player,  and  after  the  first  few  attempts  he  gave  it  up. 
Hilda  sat  out  with  him  some  of  the  time,  though  she 
danced  some  of  the  dances.  Half-way  through  the  even- 
ing they  walked  out  together  into  the  garden.  Hilda 
was  very  gay,  stimulated  by  the  dancing,  shining  with 
the  full  light  of  her  vitality.  John  was  abashed  and 
rather  silent,  feeling  a  need  to  express  by  some  adequate 
embrace  his  admiration  for  the  warm  glow  of  her.  They 
walked  round  the  garden,  Hilda  talked  gaily  and 
irreverently;  John  was  silent.  They  looked  at  the  flowers 
planted  from  English  seed  and  pretended  to  admire  them, 
though  their  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  They  then  looked 
at  the  pipes  and  all  the  apparatus  for  spraying  the  lawn. 
"  It's  terribly  expensive  in  this  dry  land.  Just  think, 
five  pounds  a  week  for  this  lawn,  but  it's  worth  it.  It's 
nice  having  a  green  place  to  walk  in." 

"  Oh,  damn  the  lawn  sprays.  It's  you  I'm  thinking 
about,"  laughed  John  abruptly.  He  put  his  hands  on 
her  shoulders  and  drew  her  towards  him. 


268  THE     MAINLAND 

For  a  moment  and  more  than  a  moment,  she  accepted 
his  kiss.  Then,  laughing,  she  broke  away  and  ran  back 
to  the  hotel. 

n 

For  the  rest  of  the  dance,  Hilda  perversely  avoided 
John,  and  not  till  the  party  were  breaking  up  did  she 
speak  to  him  again.  She  then  ran  up  to  him,  and  pluck- 
ing from  her  dress  a  portion  of  a  spray  of  nigella  blossom, 
that  she  was  wearing,  said,  laughing:  "Wear  this  to 
prove  your  faithfulness.  I  shan't  say  good  night  to  you. 
You  don't  deserve  it."  She  turned  away  with  a  smile 
full  of  gay  wickedness,  that  made  John  want  to  run  after 
her  and  make  her  explain  herself. 

While  he  was  putting  the  nigella  into  his  buttonhole, 
Stephens  happened  to  pass  near  by.  "  I  see  you're 
favoured,"  he  said.  "  Those  flowers  were  Mr.  Fryett's 
ewe-lambs.  He  had  no  end  of  bother  rearing  them. 
They  were  a  special  gift  to  Miss  Vance,  so  I  know  who's 
given  them  to  you.  You  had  better  not  let  him  see  you 
wearing  them.  .  .  .  She's  a  damned  pretty  girl,  intelli- 
gent, too.  Her  mother  doesn't  know  what  character  that 
girl's  got.  If  she  doesn't  marry  her  off  soon,  she  had 
better  look  out  for  squalls.  That  sort  of  girl's  a  modern 
type  —  particularly  Australian,  I  might  say,  with  ideas 
in  her  head,  and  I  daresay  the  courage  to  act  on 
them." 

John  went  with  Stephens  into  the  smoking-room,  and 
for  a  while  they  smoked.  When  they  turned  in,  they 
were  the  last  to  leave  the  room. 

The  long  corridor  of  bedrooms,  when  John  reached  it, 
was  dark  and  deserted.     When  he  came  to  unlock  his 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  269 

door,  he  found  that  there  was  an  obstruction  in  his  key- 
hole. He  held  his  candle  lower.  Sticking  out  of  the 
keyhole  was  one  of  Mr.  Fryett's  nigellas.  John's  heart 
gave  a  bound.  He  stood  for  a  moment  while  the  idea 
took  hold  of  his  mind.  Then  he  looked  down  the  long 
corridor.  There  was  not  a  sound,  every  one  was  shut  in 
for  the  night.  Silently  he  then  walked  down  the  passage. 
Four  doors  further  down  were  two  blossoms  dropped  on 
the  mat.  John  blew  out  his  candle,  went  to  the  door  and 
opened  it.  Inside,  the  room  was  lit  only  by  the  dim 
light  from  the  windows.  As  he  closed  the  door  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  a  moving  figure,  then  soft  hands  were  laid  on 
his  neck.  "  Clever  boy,"  said  Hilda.  "  That's  why  you 
didn't  deserve  saying  '  good  night '  to." 

m 

With  Hilda  the  days  passed  quickly.  John  was  in  no 
hurry  for  his  consignment  of  ore,  which  at  first  he  had 
looked  forward  so  much  to  receiving.  Each  day  he  found 
Hilda's  companionship  more  charming,  and  her  self  more 
intimate.  She  seemed  so  frank  and  direct.  What  sur- 
prised him,  was  that  she  made  no  sort  of  claim  upon  him. 
Willing  to  accept  the  present  with  light-hearted  cheerful- 
ness, she  left  the  future  to  take  care  of  itself.  "  Men 
aren't  always  fussing  about  what  is  going  to  happen  to 
them  next  year.  If  women  want  freedom  they  must  be 
thorough,"  she  had  said,  and  once  when  they  were  riding 
together  far  out  in  the  bush,  "  Most  girls  I  know  are 
only  fit  to  get  married.  They  are  such  cowards.  I  dare- 
say I  shall  get  married  some  day,  but  not  yet.  I  have 
such  a  deep  suspicion  of  men.  Once  they  are  married 
they  set  to  work  grimly  to  become  husbands.     I've  watched 


270  THE    MAINLAND 

them.  They  forget  that  their  wives  are  women,  not  only 
women  from  a  man's  point  of  view,  but  from  their  own, 
and  that  they  are  thinking  just  twenty  times  as  fast  as 
the  average  man." 

"  Do  men  change  so  much  when  they  are  married?  " 
asked  John. 

"  I  should  just  think  they  do.  The  whole  attitude 
alters.  They  get  full  of  assumptions,  and  the  knowledge 
of  legal  rights.     What  has  the  law  got  to  do  with  it?  " 

He  asked  with  a  smile:  "Does  that  make  so  much 
difference?  " 

'  Yes,  it  does.  I  like  to  belong  to  myself.  It  seems 
more  generous  like  that.  Of  course  lots  of  women,  I 
know,  like  their  bondage.  It  makes  them  feel  snug  and 
secure.  Then  they  like  to  think  that  their  men  are 
eternally  faithful  and  all  the  rest.  But  that's  rot.  Men 
aren't  like  that,  God  made  them  different.  And " — 
here  she  laughed  with  frank  roguishness  — "  I'm  willing 
to  take  man  as  God  made  them."  Then  with  one  of  her 
quick  changes  of  thought.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that 
you  are  an  eligible  catch,  and  that  I  might  try  and  marry 
you?  Probably  every  one  thinks  that  I'm  trying  to. 
Well,  perhaps  I  shall  when  I  get  old.  I  like  you,  like  you 
too  well  to  want  to  marry  you  yet." 

'  What  is  it  you  like?  "  John,  like  every  other  man, 
found  it  pleasant  to  be  flattered  by  a  pretty  woman. 

"  What  I  first  liked  was  the  way  you  seemed  to  sum 
me  up  without  any  impudence  when  you  looked  at  me. 
Now  —  oh,  I  like  you  all  now.  You've  got  such  a  nice 
clean  body  .  .  .  Are  you  pleased  that  I  like  you?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course."  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  asked. 
"  Have  you  known  other  men  as  you  have  me?  " 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  271 

"  That's  not  the  sort  of  question  a  man  should  ask, 
John,  but  somehow  I  don't  mind  your  asking.  Yes,  I 
have.     There  was  another  fellow,  but  he  was  a  rotter." 

"How?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  soft;  full  of  sickly  sentiment.  Just  be- 
cause I'd  been  generous  to  him,  he  seemed  to  think  that 
he  had  power  over  me,  and  that  I  must  marry  him.  I 
didn't  in  the  least  want  to  marry  him.  I  couldn't  shake 
him  out  of  all  his  stupid  prejudices.  That's  the  best  of 
you,  John,  you  haven't  got  any.  His  mind  seemed  to  be 
dark  inside.     Besides,  he  was  soft.     I  turned  him  down." 

"  Hilda,  you  are  splendid.  I  like  you  for  your  inde- 
pendence." 

"  Yes,  there  are  not  many  girls  like  me,"  she  answered, 
laughing,  "  though  you  may  think  there  are,  you  wild 
bushman!  " 

When  John  was  by  himself  after  their  rides  and  talks 
together,  he  was  interested  to  notice  how  much  he  had 
entered  into  the  field  of  her  ideas,  and  how  little  of  that 
firm  substance  of  his  own  opinions,  formed  from  hard 
experience,  had  been  disclosed.  They  had  plenty  of 
things  in  common,  and  always  interesting  subjects  to 
talk  about;  but  there  remained  a  world  of  deeper  thoughts 
that  Hilda's  cheerful  vivacity  did  not  touch.  All  his  ex- 
perience of  loneliness  and  pain  was  unknown  to  her. 
Perhaps  it  was  an  additional  charm  that  her  courage  was 
without  suspicion. 

One  of  the  trifles  of  their  everyday  life  which  amused 
John  and  gave  him  great  pleasure  was  to  see  Hilda  eat 
her  breakfast.  She  did  so  thoroughly  enjoy  her  food. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  least  greedy  about  her,  but 
there  was  a  frank,  undisguised  enjoyment,  the  wholesome 


272  THE     MAINLAND 

appetite  of  a  strong  and  healthy  woman.  This  was  a 
small  thing,  but  it  pleased  him.  He  gloried  in  her  health- 
iness. She  was  happy,  full  of  song  and  vigour,  alive 
in  the  true  sense.  Everything  that  she  did,  she  thor- 
oughly enjoyed.     John  thought  her  a  splendid  girl. 

As  the  ten  days  before  the  ore  arrived  flew  past,  John's 
intimacy  with  Hilda  grew.  At  the  end  of  the  time  he 
told  her  with  brusque  frankness  that  he  must  give  his 
undivided  attention  to  the  work.  She  nodded  in  her 
self-contained  manner,  telling  him  to  look  sharp  and  grow 
rich. 

Night  and  day  he  had  to  be  at  the  mills,  sampling  the 
gold  as  it  passed  through,  seeing  that  he  was  not  robbed 
at  any  of  the  many  stages.  It  was  not  hard  work,  but 
he  had  always  to  be  on  the  spot.  During  this  time  he 
hardly  saw  Hilda  at  all,  and  consequently  had  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  his  relation  with  her  "  placed  "  (to  a 
certain  extent)  in  his  mind.  He  found  he  did  not  miss 
her,  nor  suffer  any  ache  from  the  separation.  She  re- 
mained like  a  warm  piece  of  sunlight  in  his  thoughts;  a 
pleasant  person  to  think  about.  He  was  glad  that  she 
was  there,  and  that  he  would  meet  her  again.  That  side 
of  his  nature  which  was  uppermost  when  he  was  with  her 
was  excellent  in  its  way,  but  not  the  whole  of  life.  Yet 
though  he  could  do  without  her,  he  was  very  glad  of 
their  relation.  It  made  life  richer.  He  felt,  too,  real 
friendship  for  her  honesty  and  frankness.  Had  she  been 
a  man  possessed  of  those  qualities  he  would  have  still 
liked  their  possessor.  As  it  was,  he  liked  her  additionally 
for  being  a  woman.  By  her  surrender  she  had  paid 
tribute  to,  and  strengthened  his  manhood. 

During  this  period  of  work  he  often  thought  of  Gilbert, 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  273 

wondering  in  what  way  he  had  so  failed  that  he  had 
found  sex  to  be  the  curse  of  life.  John  wondered  if  he 
had  tried  to  find  in  it  things  that  were  in  his  own  mind, 
and  which  rarely  could  find  place  in  the  compromise  that 
must  be  between  men  and  women.  This  thought  brought 
the  admission  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  live  always 
with  a  woman,  then  led  him  with  a  sharp  pang  to  his 
recollection  of  Mrs.  Cray.  Perhaps  with  a  woman  like 
that  anything  might  be  accomplished.  He  remembered 
that  he  had  loved  her  with  such  tender  adoration  that 
he  had  never  desired  her  as  he  desired  Hilda.  Hilda 
always  belonged  to  herself  just  as  he  belonged  to  himself. 
They  were  friends  in  the  mutual  expression  of  their 
rejoicing  vitality.  The  recollection  of  his  love  was  some- 
how different  from  that.  He  felt  that  such  passionate 
tenderness  as  he  had  then  experienced  might  plunge  him 
so  deep  into  pain  and  joy  that  he  might  lose  all  con- 
sciousness of  himself,  letting  his  identity  be  moulded  into 
strange  and  unknown  patterns.  Gilbert,  he  felt,  had 
never  let  that  happen  to  him.  Perhaps  he  had  fallen 
between  the  two  states.  It  would  be  possible,  he  imagined, 
to  get  them  hopelessly  muddled. 

Again  his  thoughts  came  back  to  himself.  Where  he 
was  travelling,  or  where  he  now  stood  he  could  not  tell. 
He  had  no  fear,  and  it  was  useless  to  regret  opportunities 
that  by  inexperience  he  had  lost.  What  he  had  attained 
was  a  certain  measure  of  success.  Life  was  again  attrac- 
tive, an  open  book  with  leaves  pleasant  to  turn  over. 

When  the  work  at  the  mills  was  finished,  he  picked  up 
his  relations  with  Hilda  just  where  he  had  left  it.  It  did 
not  seem  that  he  had  been  away  any  time;  there  was 
between  them  the  same   frank  intimacy  of  thought,  the 


274  THE    MAINLAND 

same  sincerity.  In  addition  to  her  friendship,  he  had 
now  the  glow  of  growing  success.  The  mine  was  turning 
out  better  than  expected. 

The  work  of  seeing  consignments  of  ore  kept  John  at 
Mt.  Gerard.  Often  there  were  long  intervals  when  he 
could  enter  into  the  gay  life  of  the  township.  Sometimes, 
too,  he  would  run  up  to  the  mine  for  a  couple  of  days. 
He  would  return  glad  to  see  Hilda  again,  and  to  feel  the 
warm,  assuring  embrace  of  her  arms.  Once,  to  find  ex- 
pression for  his  good  luck  and  satisfaction,  he  said :  "  I 
think,  Hilda,  you  are  the  most  perfect  mistress  that  a 
man  could  hope  for.  You  leave  a  fellow  so  free  and  are 
so  free  yourself." 

"  That  is  the  finest  compliment  a  man  can  pay  a 
woman,"  she  answered.  "  I'd  rather  be  a  mistress  than 
a  wife." 

For  some  months  their  easy  relationship  lasted,  but  in 
spite  of  a  mutual  and  passionate  desire  for  freedom, 
bonds  gradually  grew  between  them.  In  John's  mind 
there  germinated  a  tiny  grain  of  pity  for  Hilda,  as  for 
some  lonely  creature  who  did  not  know  the  danger  and 
treachery  of  life.  Any  expression  of  this  feeling,  either 
by  word  or  movement,  he  knew,  would  be  resented;  still, 
it  constituted  a  bond.  The  need  for  constant  secrecy 
was  also  a  tie.  At  times  John  experienced  rebellious 
anger  against  so  arbitrary  a  necessity,  feeling  that  some- 
thing must  be  very  wrong  with  a  society  that  penalized 
a  woman  for  satisfying  the  natural  impulse  of  her  life. 
At  other  times,  when  he  heard  the  ordinary  smoking- 
room  talk,  he  was  glad  that  they  had  been  able  to  keep 
their  intimacy  so  hidden  under  the  shell  of  cheerful  in- 
difference.    Their  chief  safety  was  in  Hilda's  large  ac- 


THE    BEATEN     TRACK  275 

quaintanceship  with  other  men  and  John's  easy  friend- 
ships with  women. 

As  the  inevitable  ties  of  their  relationship  grew,  John 
began  to  feel  that  his  life  was  becoming  circumscribed. 
There  was  the  mine  and  Hilda.  There  was  Hilda  and 
the  mine.  He  began  to  want  something  else.  A  desire 
was  stirring,  making  him  restless.  As  yet  he  knew  not 
what  the  desire  was,  but  in  his  restlessness  he  felt  that 
Hilda  could  not  help. 

When,  one  day,  Stephens  unexpectedly  turned  up  at 
Mt.  Gerard  and  suggested  that  John  should  take  a  month's 
holiday  with  him  in  Leith,  John  jumped  at  the  idea.  He 
had  often  vaguely  thought  of  going  to  Leith,  and  now  the 
chance  had  come  at  an  opportune  moment. 

When  he  told  Hilda  that  he  was  going,  she  looked  just 
a  little  vexed  that  she  could  not  come,  too.  But  that  was 
not  possible. 

"  Well,  good  luck,"  she  said,  in  her  hard,  matter-of- 
fact  way.     "  Don't  forget  all  about  me." 

He  kissed  her  his  assurances.  He  was  not  sorry  to  say 
good-bye,  though,  as  on  other  occasions,  he  could  think 
with  pleasure  of  meeting  her  again  when  he  returned. 
"  I  shall  write,"  he  said,  "  it  will  be  good  practice  for  me 
in  letter-writing." 

IV 

By  the  side  of  Macquary's  Hotel,  at  which  Stephens 
had  taken  rooms  the  "  St.  Quintin  "  would  have  looked 
but  a  provincial  inn.  Its  magnificence  produced  in  John 
a  sense  of  easy  extravagance.  He  liked  the  super-luxury 
of  its  huge  cushioned  chairs  and  its  attentive  men-serv- 
ants.    The  activity  of  the  city  life  passing  before  the 


276  THE     MAINLAND 

windows  was  stimulating;  there  was  satisfaction  in  being 
himself  aloof,  confident  in  the  power  of  commercial  suc- 
cess. 

The  afternoon  of  their  arrival  was  hot  even  for  Leith 
in  midsummer.  John  and  Stephen  sat  in  the  draught  of 
air  from  an  electric  fan  in  their  private  sitting-room  and 
looked  out  across  the  road  and  gardens  beyond,  to  the 
wide  blue  water  of  the  harbour. 

"  You  haven't  forgotten  that  I've  booked  us  to  dine 
out  to-night?  "  said  Stephens.  "  Some  interesting  people, 
the  Melvilles;  quite  the  leaders  of  culture  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  travelled  a  lot  in  Europe  at  one  time.  He's 
a  keen  yachtsman.  I  daresay  we  shall  meet  him  a  good 
deal  on  the  water.  It's  his  wife  who  chiefly  patronizes 
the  arts.  You  are  likely  to  find  it  quite  amusing.  They 
are  sure  to  have  some  of  their  latest  proteges,  some  girl 
who  paints  pictures  in  spots  or  streaks,  of  some  young 
fellow  with  a  tie  and  a  lot  of  hair,  who  scrapes  a  violin. 
Not  so  bad  in  small  doses.  It  rather  amuses  me.  After 
all  one  can  always  get  Tom  Melville  to  talk  about  his 
latest  device  for  making  fast  the  jib-sheets.  You've  done 
some  sailing,  haven't  you,  before  you  came  on  the  fields? 
Oh,  well!  you  needn't  be  hard  up  for  a  subject." 

"  Will  there  be  much  of  a  crowd?  "  asked  John. 

"  Oh  no,  some  six  or  seven  to  dinner,  and  I  daresay 
half  a  dozen  more  will  come  in  afterwards.  It's  quite  an 
informal  affair.  There's  sure  to  be  some  one  interesting. 
Perhaps  Carter  will  be  there  with  his  pretty  wife  —  any- 
way, there  will  be  nobody  dull  in  the  ordinary  way. 
Mrs.  Melville  sees  to  that.  She  has  a  reputation  to  keep 
up.  It's  up  to  her  to  find  some  new  kind  of  exotic  every 
time.     Mind  they  don't  try  and  run  you  as  one  of  their 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  277 

side-shows.  They  are  out  for  anything  not  quite  usual. 
I  can  imagine  the  description.  Entirely  self-made  — 
had  such  wonderful  luck  on  the  gold-fields;  such  a  nice 
young  man  and  so  intelligent." 

"  Oh,  damn,"  said  John.  "  I  shall  keep  my  mouth 
shut." 

"  Don't  do  that,  you'll  miss  half  the  fun  if  you  do. 
What's  it  matter?  It's  not  such  bad  sort  of  damned 
nonsense,  anyway.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you,  I've  a  little 
friend  of  mine  coming  round  to  tea  —  a  nice  little  girl  — 
I  must  introduce  you.  She's  my  typist,  not  that  she's 
any  good  at  typewriting,  but  that  accounts  for  her.  .  .  . 
She's  my  private  secretary." 

"  Is  she  coming,  too?  " 

"Good  Lord,  no!  Mrs.  Melville  is  fairly  broad- 
minded,  but  she  couldn't  stick  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  well,  one  doesn't  take  a  girl  of  that  sort  out  to 
dine  at  a  lady's  house!  Look  here,"  laughed  Stephens, 
"  you  mustn't  let  on  you  are  so  ignorant  of  the  ways 
of  the  world,  or  they  are  sure  to  make  a  side-show  of 
you." 

"  But  why  the  dickens  should  a  girl  always  be  penalized 
if  she  doesn't  get  married?     It  seems  unfair." 

"  Oh,  you  are  up  against  Church  and  State  there. 
You'd  better  leave  it  alone  .  .  .  but  you'll  soon  get  into 
the  hang  of  things.  They'll  all  talk,  if  not  about  their 
own  affairs  about  other  people's.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  listen.  They  are  quite  a  pleasant  set,  when  you 
get  to  know  them." 

John  found  the  party  amusing  enough.  To  meet,  for 
the  first  time,  so  many  new  types  was  bound  to  be  an 


278  THE    MAINLAND 

interesting  experience.  Melville  was  a  large  bluff  fellow 
with  a  fair  beard.  He  smiled  benignly  at  his  guests, 
but  didn't  say  much,  leaving  the  way  open  for  his  wife. 
Mrs.  Melville  was  a  sinuous  lady  with  a  long  neck  and  a 
refined  face.  She  greeted  most  of  her  guests  as,  "  Well, 
my  dear,"  and  informed  them  how  pleased  she  was  to 
see  them.  For  John  also  she  had  a  graceful  greeting, 
having  heard  stories  of  him,  she  said,  from  her  old  friend, 
Jim  Stephens.  The  guests  were  such  as  she  had  good 
reason  to  be  proud  of,  each  carrying  with  him  the  con- 
sciousness of  some  kind  of  success  or  distinction.  There 
was  Carter,  a  heavy  fellow  with  a  square  chin  who  had 
made  a  fortune  gambling  in  wool.  Mrs.  Carter,  an  ex- 
ceptionally pretty  blonde,  with  artistic  leanings,  developed, 
partly  for  the  sake  of  the  elegance  of  the  occupation,  partly 
as  an  escape  from  the  rather  thick  atmosphere  that  Carter 
shed  around  him.  There  was  Professor  and  Mrs.  White- 
stone.  Mrs.  Whitestone  was  a  leading  figure  in  Leith, 
being  one  of  the  chief  intellectual  lights.  She  had 
"  squashes  "  every  Wednesday  where  she  presided,  the 
central  figure  of  art  and  learning.  Her  manner  dis- 
played the  consciousness  of  her  magnificence.  She  bore 
a  resemblance  to  a  plumed  and  distinguished  ostrich. 
The  professor  was  an  insignificant  little  man,  with  wide- 
world  reputation  for  his  adventures  in  the  realm  of  pure 
logic.  He  wore  a  dark  blue  suit  which  looked  rather 
small  for  him,  and  had  a  large  bald  head,  which,  Stephens 
afterwards  remarked,  might  have  been  laid  by  the  ostrich. 
Mrs.  Whitestone,  he  maintained,  gave  an  occasional  glance 
towards  its  shining  dome,  with  just  that  air  of  proud 
possession  which  a  mother-bird  might  bestow  on  an  ex- 
ceptionally fine  egg.     Then  there  was  Hunter,  the  journal- 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  279 

ist,  a  wiry  man  with  black  eyes  and  a  sour  smile,  and  Miss 
Raeburn,  the  new  successful  artist  who  was  painting  the 
portraits  of  all  who  could  afford  to  pay.  Stephens  had 
been  quite  right.  Her  very  original  method  to  get  her 
effect  was  to  draw  with  crayons  a  series  of  straight  lines, 
slanting  from  the  right-hand  top  corner  to  the  left-hand 
bottom  corner  of  her  canvas:  a  very  remarkable  conceit. 
Then  there  was  her  friend,  Miss  Mackintosh,  a  plump  girl 
with  a  pleasant  smile,  who  was  so  clever  at  painting 
china. 

At  dinner  John  sat  between  Miss  Mackintosh  and  Mrs. 
Carter,  and  was  very  much  interested  in  the  talk  about 
their  studios  and  the  pleasant-sounding  easiness  of  their 
lives.  Miss  Mackintosh  told  him  that  she  was  going  to 
have  a  show  of  her  work  in  a  few  days'  time.  John 
promised  to  be  present. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly,  in  the  open  garden 
which  looked  out  over  the  harbour.  After  dinner  several 
of  the  guests  came  in,  including  two  specimens  of  the 
hair-and-tie  variety  of  young  man.  They  had  pleasant 
faces  and  an  open,  deliberate  way  of  speaking,  of  which 
they  were  very  conscious.  Art  and  literature  were  still 
the  subjects  of  conversation,  but  later  in  the  evening  these 
gave  way  to  yachting.  Mr.  Melville  now  became  ani- 
mated, and  he  and  Stephens  arranged  for  expeditions  in 
the  harbour  for  several  days  ahead. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  evening,  John  and  Stephens 
returned  to  their  hotel,  John  felt  a  pleasant  interest  in 
his  new  acquaintances.  He  looked  forward  to  meeting 
them  again,  feeling  inquisitive  to  know  how  they  spent 
their  leisure.  He  had  learnt  that  they  could  talk  well, 
was  indeed  rather  bewildered  by  the  flow  of  conversa- 


280  THE    MAINLAND 

tion.     It  had  all  been  very  stimulating,  but  he  supposed 
that  they  had  other  and  wider  activities. 

v 

The  next  day  was  spent  sailing  in  the  harbour. 
Stephens  and  Melville  were  both  possessors  of  small 
yachts,  and  the  party  divided  itself  between  the  two 
boats.  On  the  smaller  yacht  were  Stephens,  John,  Mrs. 
Carter  and  a  Mrs.  Ogalini,  who  appeared  to  be  an  old 
friend  of  Stephens'.  She  was  a  small,  bright-looking 
woman  with  an  abundance  of  dark  hair  and  rather  soft, 
graceful  movements.  The  day  was  fine,  with  a  light 
breeze,  and  the  boats  moved  leisurely  over  the  water, 
exploring  the  many  irregular  bays  and  inlets  of  the  har- 
bour. It  was  arranged  that  at  luncheon  both  parties 
should  meet  at  a  rendezvous;  till  then  the  boats  followed 
their  separate  courses.  As  is  usual  on  such  occasions 
the  conversation  was  between  couples,  only  becoming  gen- 
eral now  and  then.  John  soon  found  himself  talking 
with  amused  interest  to  Mrs.  Carter,  who,  he  had  to 
admit,  came  up  to  her  reputation  of  frail,  delicate  pretti- 
ness.  She  was  very  young,  only  just  twenty,  and  talked 
in  an  ingenuous  manner,  which  John  found  very  charm- 
ing. He  noticed  in  her  a  languid,  seemingly  tired  ex- 
pression, as  if  she  had  not  much  real  interest  in  life. 
When  she  was  not  speaking  she  let  her  eyes  roam  over 
the  sun-capped  waves  as  though  she  did  not  see  them. 

John  asked  why  her  husband  was  not  able  to  come  with 
her. 

She  smiled,  as  though  pleased  at  the  question.  "  Oh! 
he  has  so  much  to  do  almost  every  day.     He  has  to  travel 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  281 

about  a  great  deal.  He  has  gone  to  Albert  and  will  be 
away  a  week,  perhaps  longer." 

"  I  expect  he  wishes  he  could  be  here  with  you,"  said 
John. 

"  Yes."  She  was  again  languid  and  had  lost  interest. 
After  a  moment  she  asked  him:  "  I  suppose  you've  done 
a  great  deal  of  sailing?  " 

"  Yes,  up  in  the  North-West  by  Garlip  and  further 
north." 

"  Oh,  tell  me  about  it.  That  must  all  be  a  very  wild 
part." 

He  gave  a  short  description  of  the  cruise  from  Kaimera 
northwards.  Mrs.  Carter  listened  with  wide  eyes  full  of 
interest  and  sympathy. 

"  I  should  like  to  travel  like  that.  You  men  are  lucky 
in  your  freedom.  It  doesn't  seem  to  matter  with  a  man, 
how  poor  he  is;  he  is  always  able  to  live  his  life." 

John  was  puzzled  at  her  allusion  to  poverty.  "  But 
what  do  you  know  of  poverty?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal."  She  smiled  again,  pleased  at  the 
question.  "  Before  I  married  I  was  very  poor.  My 
father  was  an  engineer  at  Kalgoorlie,  not  a  rich  one. 
We  had  very  little  money." 

"  You  must  find  it  now  a  pleasant  change,"  said  John. 
"  It  certainly  is  pleasant  to  have  all  the  money  one  wants." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  without  conviction. 

John  looked  at  her  pretty,  though  rather  sad  little 
face,  and  saw  what  he  might  have  seen  at  first  sight, 
had  he  been  more  observant  of  other  people's  feelings; 
that  she  was  unhappy  in  her  marriage.  "  Poor  little 
woman,"  he  thought.     "  He  does  look  a  heavy,   coarse 


282  THE     MAINLAND 

brute  of  a  fellow  with  no  ideas  in  his  head  beyond  making 
money.     Poor  little  woman." 

The  knowledge  that  Mrs.  Carter  was  not  happy,  also 
that  she  looked  pretty  and  helpless  gave  her  additional 
interest.  He  thought  it  a  shame  that  women  should  be 
tied  to  men  that  they  didn't  like,  because  in  early  youth 
they  had  been  indiscreet  enough  to  get  married.  He  be- 
gan to  feel  a  certain  tenderness  for  her  as  for  some  child 
who  has  hurt  herself  and  who  doesn't  yet  understand 
the  cruel  order  of  things  that  allows  pain  so  unkindly 
to  touch  her.  It  pleased  him  too  that  she  was  cheered 
and  happy  in  his  company.  While  he  talked  to  her 
about  his  adventures  on  the  pearling  coast  and  the  gold- 
fields,  her  look  of  childish  happiness  returned.  But  even 
in  her  happy  moods  he  could  see  that  she  was  very  sensi- 
tive, still  smarting  from  the  effect  of  some  sharp  pain. 

During  the  next  few  days  John  met  Mrs.  Carter  on 
several  occasions,  sometimes  when  out  on  the  harbour, 
sometimes  at  dinner  or  at  the  theatre,  and  once  he  and 
Stephens  went  to  tea  at  her  studio  to  look  at  her  paint- 
ings. At  these  times  she  made  no  attempt  to  hide  her 
pleasure  at  his  presence.  John  certainly  liked  her,  though 
he  felt  no  strong  attraction  towards  her  as  he  had  towards 
Hilda.  His  emotion  was  chiefly  one  of  compassion  and 
kindness,  mingled  with  a  certain  satisfaction  at  the  tribute 
which  her  weakness  paid  to  his  strength.  It  was  a  pity  her 
husband  was  such  a  heavy,  uncongenial  fellow. 

VI 

About  ten  days  after  the  dinner-party  at  Mrs.  Mel- 
ville's, John  received  a  note  from  Miss  Mackintosh  re- 
minding him  of  the  small  exhibition  of  painted  china  and 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  283 

allied  artistic  productions  that  she  and  some  of  her  friends 
were  giving.  At  the  studio  John  found  an  assortment 
of  amusing  modern  paintings,  about  which  their  creators 
were  talking  in  a  very  serious  fashion.  Such  fragmentary 
remarks  as,  "  Extraordinary  well  proportioned "... 
"  She's  quite  right  and  taking  her  art  very  seriously," 
and  "Remarkable  work!  "  caught  his  ear.  Miss  Mack- 
intosh's painting  was  certainly  what  pleased  him  most. 
She  covered  large  china  bowls  with  a  pale  green  back- 
ground on  which  a  continuous  string  of  naked  girls 
danced  with  every  sign  of  jolly  abandonment.  The  fig- 
ures which,  in  their  delicate  pink,  contrasted  vividly  with 
the  pale  green,  had  much  originality  of  gesture  and  pose. 
They  certainly  lived.  Two  of  the  larger  of  these  vases 
rather  took  John's  fancy.  Giving  way  to  a  sudden  im- 
pulse he  bought  them. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  hotel  he  was  rather  embar- 
rassed by  their  size.  One  he  had  packed  and  sent  to 
Hilda  with  a  little  chaffing  letter  telling  her  not  to  forget 
him.  The  other  he  didn't  in  the  least  know  what  to 
do  with.  For  a  day  or  two  it  stood  full  of  roses  on  a 
table  in  the  sitting-room;  then  John  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  Mrs.  Carter  had  much  admired  the  gay  figures, 
and  had  regretted  that  her  husband  could  not  buy  her 
one  of  the  rather  fantastically  highly  priced  bowls.  Again 
upon  an  impulse,  he  had  the  bowl  packed  up  and  ad- 
dressed to  her.  He  thought  of  writing  a  note,  but  merely 
enclosed  his  card. 

The  next  day  he  received  a  very  grateful  little  letter. 
It  was  so  very  kind  of  him,  she  said,  to  give  her  the 
beautiful  bowl  that  she  had  so  much  wanted.  Would  he 
come  to  tea  with  her  at  her  studio  that  afternoon.     She 


284  THE     MAINLAND 

had  asked  Miss  Mackintosh  that  they  might  both  admire 
the  bowl  in  its  new  setting. 

When  John  reached  the  studio  he  found  Mrs.  Carter 
alone.  She  was  becomingly  dressed  in  pale  green  with  a 
soft  yellow  scarf  and  waistband,  matching  her  hair. 
Both  she  and  her  daintily  furnished  room  looked  very 
pretty.  Miss  Mackintosh  had  not  yet  arrived,  so  Mrs. 
Carter  began  to  show  John  some  of  her  own  paintings. 
They  talked  about  the  bowl  and  how  well  it  looked, 
also  about  the  studio;  then,  since  Miss  Mackintosh  did 
not  come,  they  decided  to  have  tea  and  not  wait  for 
her.  After  tea  Mrs.  Carter  suggested  that  they  should 
look  at  some  sketches  that  she  had  made  while  travelling 
with  her  husband  in  the  south.  She  pulled  out  a  big 
album.  Then  they  sat  side  by  side,  resting  it  upon  a 
table.  John  turned  over  the  pages  while  Mrs.  Carter 
explained  the  drawings.  John  was  not  much  interested 
in  the  pictures,  but  he  experienced  a  feeling  of  considera- 
ble pleasure  in  her  close  proximity.  He  guessed  that 
Mrs.  Carter  must  also  find  the  pictures  rather  dull,  but 
he  recognized  it  as  part  of  the  process  that  they  had 
to  go  through.  Although  she  talked  volubly,  neither  of 
them  paid  much  attention  to  what  she  said.  There  grew 
between  them  a  more  direct  means  of  communication. 
John  was  conscious  of  her  rather  tender  melancholy.  It 
was  very  pleasing.  Also,  he  felt  tolerably  certain  that 
she  had  wished  to  be  alone  with  him,  and  had  never 
asked  Miss  Mackintosh  to  be  present.  He  felt  that  she 
was  delightfully  slight,  delicate,  pleasant  to  embrace  in 
her  soft,  filmy  dress;  yet  he  sat  still,  making  no  sign. 

When  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  album,  they  both 
felt  a  little  shy  in  the  sudden  absence  of  any  subject- 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  285 

matter,  about  which  to  talk.  John  held  the  last  leaf  in 
his  hand.  For  a  moment  they  were  silent;  then  Mrs. 
Carter  let  her  hand  fall  gently  upon  the  back  of  his  and 
rest  there,  as  though  quite  unconsciously  it  had  chanced 
upon  that  spot  by  accident. 

A  thrill  at  the  delicate  contact  passed  up  his  arm  to 
his  heart.  He  knew  that  she  had  the  same  emotion. 
Her  face  was  turned  away  with  a  pensive,  downward 
look,  but  he  could  guess  the  tumult  of  excitement  that 
her  calm  concealed.  He  moved  his  hand  so  that  her 
smaller  one  slid  into  his  palm,  then  closed  his  fingers  on 
it.  His  other  hand  he  stretched  to  place  on  her  shoulder. 
Then  turned  her  round  and  kissed  her. 

"  Oh,  John,  do  you  love  me?  "  she  said,  her  blue  eyes 
very  wide  open,  and  shining  with  tears  of  emotion.  He 
did  not  answer,  but  kissed  her  again. 

"  Oh,  John,  I  have  had  so  little  happiness.  ...  I  am 
happy  now  ...  I  knew  when  first  I  saw  you." 

For  answer  he  still  kissed  her.  What  could  he  say? 
He  didn't  love  her,  and  saw  no  reason  why  she  should 
love  him.  They  were  both  young  and  good-looking;  that 
was  the  reason  of  their  attraction.  While  she  lay  happy 
in  his  embrace,  he  told  her  how  beautiful  she  was.  Her 
young  beauty  with  its  delicate  charm  was  her  gift  in 
return  for  his  kisses  and  his  praise.  If  she  had  been 
unhappy,  he  was  sorry  for  her.  If  she  was  happy  and 
because  of  him,  he  was  glad.  Why  should  she  not  take 
what  happiness  came  in  her  way?  So  soft  and  delicate 
a  creature,  he  thought,  was  perhaps  not  fitted  for  the 
hardnesses  of  life.  He  guessed  that  she  would  never  will- 
ingly meet  them,  but  would  always  find  some  kind  of 
subterfuge.     For  his  part,  it  was  sufficient  justification 


286  THE     MAINLAND 

that  she  was  very  feminine,  and  that  her  kisses  were  sweet. 
As  for  her  husband  —  he  was  a  dull  fool  immersed  in 
stocks  and  shares  —  unworthy  of  a  pretty  woman.  John 
had  for  her  a  genuine  compassion  when  he  remembered 
his  view  of  Carter's  thick  lips  and  bristly  moustache 
closed  over  a  cigar.  "  Poor  little  woman,"  but  she  was 
pleasant  to  kiss  and  seemed  equally  pleased  to  kiss  him. 
Very  different  from  Hilda,  he  thought  to  himself,  lack- 
ing Hilda's  vitality  and  hard  cheerfulness.  With  Alice, 
he  would  never  be  able  to  feel  so  much  at  ease.  They 
could  never  be  so  honestly  comrades.  He  knew,  thus 
early  in  the  relationship,  that  between  them  there  would 
always  be  a  veil,  not  exactly  of  dishonesty,  but  of  some- 
thing that  wasn't  quite  sincere,  and  which  he  would  never 
be  able  to  draw  aside.  He  could  divine  her  sentimen- 
tality as  her  chief  quality,  and  a  very  real  part  of  her 
charm.  It  was  all  in  the  way  of  experience  and  very 
sweet.  To  be  critical  at  the  moment  of  their  first  em- 
brace seemed  ungrateful.  He  would  let  their  relation  take 
its  course  unimpeded  by  thoughts.  It  would,  of  itself, 
develop  easily  enough. 

vn 

For  the  next  few  weeks,  John  found  his  time  very 
largely  taken  up  by  Alice  Carter.  She  was  so  frail 
and  easily  hurt  that  his  natural  gentleness  made 
him  very  tender  with  her.  Besides  the  demands  that 
she  made  upon  him,  there  were  also  those  made  by 
the  necessity  of  secrecy.  At  first  the  latter  had  been 
stimulating.  They  had  planned  a  wild  adventure  up- 
country;  had  taken  train  to  Darmunding  and  had  stayed 
at  a  small  hotel  among  the  hills.     They  posed  as  a  honey- 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  287 

moon  pair.  For  a  few  days  John  had  been  very  happy 
while  they  wandered  together  amongst  the  trees  and  the 
wild  flowers.  But  although  he  was  happy  it  was  not 
an  unclouded  happiness.  They  had  both  had  to  tell,  and 
to  write,  a  great  many  lies,  from  which,  somehow,  the 
very  texture  of  their  relationship  seemed  to  have  suffered. 

It  was  at  Darmunding  that  he  remembered  Gilbert's 
remarks  about  marriage.  He  wondered,  as  yet  very  re- 
motely, whether  it  was  true  that  sex  was  the  curse  of 
life.  He  remembered  that  Gilbert  had  said  how  marriage 
changed  him  against  his  will.  Well,  not  only  was  he  now 
being  changed,  but  all  the  surroundings  of  trees  and 
plants  appeared  different.  How  they  were  changed  he 
could  not  exactly  say,  but  they  had  a  different  aspect.  It 
was  as  if  he  was  shut  off  from  them.  The  personality  of 
Alice  Carter  somehow  stopped  his  natural  communion 
with  the  wild  things  of  nature.  He  could  still  admire 
flowers,  taking  pleasure  in  their  colour  and  shape,  but 
they  were  not  the  same  as  at  one  time  they  had  seemed. 
Some  essence,  which  to  his  earlier  youth,  had  burned 
very  vividly,  and  especially  vividly  under  the  influence 
of  Mrs.  Cray,  was  now  but  feebly  alight.  Since  he  felt 
that  he  could  rekindle  it  by  going  away  into  solitude,  he 
was  not  much  concerned  about  its  temporary  absence. 
In  place  of  flowers  Alice  offered  him  her  flower-like  and 
delicate  self.     For  the  time  this  was  sufficient. 

Gilbert's  second  wife,  he  imagined,  must  have  been  a 
woman  rather  like  Alice.  "  Naked  and  shameless  like  a 
flower,"  he  remembered  had  been  the  description.  Yes, 
Alice  was  like  that.  To  possess  her  as  something  pe- 
culiarly his  own  was  sometimes  an  intoxicating  and  blaz- 
ing thought;  but  in  the  shadow  that  it  cast  he  could  feel 


288  THE     MAINLAND 

the  desire  for  escape  and  for  freedom  in  himself.  He 
could  understand  why  Gilbert  had  run  away. 

When  they  were  obliged  to  leave  Darmunding  and 
return  to  Leith,  he  was  both  glad  and  sorry.  There  was 
fierce,  bitter  pain  in  the  thought  of  rendering  her  back 
to  her  husband,  but  there  was  also  a  light-heartedness 
at  his  own  escape,  a  happiness  which  would  take  large 
mouthfuls  of  free  air.  Yet  he  was  not  free.  They  often 
met,  and  always  there  were  notes  passing  between  them. 
There  were  moods  in  which  he  felt  the  soft  power  of  her 
surrender,  when  he  felt  he  must  rush  to  her  and  carry 
her  off  openly.  He  wanted,  with  the  strength  and  brutal- 
ity of  his  own  hands,  to  mark  her  yielding  nature  with 
its  own  mark.  In  such  moods  she  was  to  be  his,  to  be 
enjoyed  or  discarded;  he  would  kill  any  other  man  who 
looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  possession.  Then  the  mood 
would  pass.  At  their  next  meeting  they  would  be  gentle 
towards  one  another,  and  he  would  do  anything  that  she 
wished. 

Once  she  asked  him  to  go  to  church  with  her.  He 
had  often  seen  churches,  but  had  never  been  inside  one. 
They  knelt  side  by  side.  John  was  surprised  at  her 
obvious  emotion.  He  wondered  what  she  could  find  in 
the  nasal  whine  of  the  hymns  or  in  the  pretentious  and 
dull  sermon.  The  whole  thing,  John  thought,  was  dead: 
the  dullest  show  he'd  seen,  and  he'd  seen  a  good  many 
dull  music-halls  since  he'd  been  in  Leith.  It  was  dead 
dust,  without  even  the  juices  of  decomposition.  A  cor- 
roboree  was  a  ceremony  infinitely  surpassing  it  in  re- 
ligious emotion  and  significance.  After  the  service,  when 
John  was  very  bored,  feeling  that  she  had  made  a  fool 
of  him  by  making  him  sit  through  it  all,  Alice  showed 


THE    BEATEN     TRACK  289 

signs  of  unusual  sentimentality,  oscillating  between  tear- 
ful manifestations  of  her  affection,  and  oddly  incongruous 
self-reproaches  for  being  unfaithful  to  her  husband. 
John  decided  that,  if  going  to  church  were  responsible 
for  this  difficult  combination,  he  would  not  again  accom- 
pany her. 

When  they  were  back  at  her  house  she  turned  to  him 
with  moist  eyes.  "  John,  you  must  love  me  very  much 
to  make  up  for  my  being  so  wicked."  He  didn't  under- 
stand this  talk  about  wickedness,  it  seemed  to  him  beside 
the  point;  but  he  could  dimly  recognize  that  there  was 
reason  for  her  being  not  happy.  He  himself  was  not 
altogether  happy.  He  felt  that  their  relation  led  them 
nowhere.  It  was  sterile,  a  flower  without  roots,  it  cer- 
tainly had  been  sweet,  but  was  destined  to  fade.  He 
felt  even  as  he  looked  into  her  large,  blue  eyes  that  life 
would  sweep  them  apart  regardless  of  all  sentiments. 
She  was  not  woman  enough,  she  was  soft  not  brave,  she 
had  no  spaciousness  about  her.  He  felt  that  she  could 
never  live  for  long  periods  out  of  doors.  Perhaps  churches 
were  made  for  that  type  of  woman.  Her  life  would  al- 
ways remain  shut  in,  and  cramped  within  the  limitations 
of  the  town.  Of  course  she  had  had  bad  luck  in  her  mar- 
riage, but  if  she  had  married  some  ordinary  "  townee  " 
successful  fellow  —  that  didn't  happen  to  be  such  a  heavy 
bore  as  Carter  —  she  would  have  been  happy.  With 
him,  she  would  never  be  happy.  It  was  nonsense  her 
falling  in  love  with  him,  part  of  her  weakness.  They 
were  not  mated,  though  he  did  sometimes  feel  that  fierce 
lust  of  possession.  That  again  was  weakness  and  shame. 
They  were  bound  only  by  their  weaknesses.  She  would 
be  his  slave,  his  plaything,  to  be  loved  and  hated,  never 


2qo  THE    MAINLAND 

his  friend.  Her  thoughts  were  confined,  he  felt,  within 
a  small  flat  circle,  crushed  beneath  the  weight  of  common 
opinion. 

When  he  was  away  from  her,  he  dreaded  and  longed 
for  their  next  meeting.  He  knew  that  he  would  have  to 
step  down  to  let  their  thoughts  touch.  It  was  pleasant 
stepping  down,  but  the  process  often  repeated  became 
humiliation. 

Sometimes  he  would  get  a  picture  of  himself:  one  of 
the  money-grubbing  city  throng,  a  successful  member  of 
society.  Like  all  the  rest  he  was  greedy  for  women  and 
money.  There  was  Stephens  making  love  to  Mrs.  Ogalini 
and  running  his  little  typist  at  the  same  time.  He  could 
think  of  a  score  of  similar  cases.  Then  there  were  the 
Melvilles  with  their  veneer  of  cultured  intelligence.  Mrs. 
Melville,  he  suspected,  had  become  so  coated  with  her 
sense  of  the  correct  things  to  say  and  the  correct  things 
to  do  so  as  not  to  appear  commonplace,  that  she  had  died 
inside  her  case;  but  the  men  were  all  like  himself,  greedy 
after  money  and  women.  Yet  he  could  remember  that 
once  he  had  known  other  ways  of  life.  Recollections  of 
early  idealism  which  had  flourished  so  strongly  under  the 
influence  of  Mrs.  Cray,  sometimes  reproached  him  with 
stabs  of  pain.  That  was  life  indeed.  There,  there  was 
growth  and  hope,  pain  and  joy  mingled.  Then  he  had 
felt  a  power  of  love  that  would  increase  always,  carrying 
his  hopes  higher  and  higher.  ...  It  had  failed  him  — 
crumbled  to  dust.  He  wondered.  Life  was  now  as 
strong  as  ever  it  had  been.  The  way  no  doubt  was  still 
there.  Why  was  he  stumbling  so  aimleesly  on  broken 
paths? 

Then  again  the  life  of  the  town  would  seize  him  as  it 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  291 

hurried  by:  the  round  of  parties  and  entertainments, 
gossip  at  the  club  and  assignations  with  Mrs.  Carter. 
His  weakness  seemed  to  bind  him  to  her.  Her  soft  hands 
and  wide  eyes  daily  became  more  unquestionably  a  part 
of  his  life. 

Again  he  would  break  away,  questioning  fiercely  what 
right  had  she  to  live  or  hope  for  happiness.  She  was 
soft  and  weak,  unworthy.  He  saw  the  lives  of  other 
women:  the  hard,  grinding  lives  of  town-bred  women 
sacrificed  to  the  mechanical  routine  of  commerce.  They 
had  their  professions  and  their  vaunted  freedom.  On 
the  empty  letter  of  that  freedom  (what  some  talked  bom- 
bastically of  as  emancipation)  they  could  starve  body, 
soul  and  sex;  and  die,  broken  and  wasted,  the  refuse 
of  a  great  machine.  Hundreds  of  them  had  better  right 
to  live  than  Alice  Carter. 

He  thought  of  Hilda.  She  was  brave  and  wonder- 
fully capable  of  taking  the  consequences  of  her  acts.  She 
would  never  snivel  at  fate.  She  was  hard,  well-tempered 
to  life,  and  cheerful.  Then  he  thought  of  Gilbert.  Gil- 
bert had  known  all  these  things  about  the  city  and  so- 
ciety and  the  sheltered  lives  of  women,  and  the  lives  of 
women  that  were  not  sheltered.  All  these  things  which 
John  was  just  beginning  to  see  he  had  seen  long  ago. 
Yes,  and  Gilbert  had  run  away.  In  the  bush  he  had 
found  happiness! 

John  thought  of  the  wide  innocence  of  the  bush,  its 
virginal  smile,  its  hardness,  its  cruelty,  its  delicate  wel- 
come of  soft  scents.  In  the  light  of  that  thought  he 
began  to  hate  the  city.  He  saw  his  own  restlessness 
during  the  last  few  weeks.  He  had  been  in  chains,  and 
every  day  was  fixing  them  more  firmly  upon  him.     Well, 


292  THE     MAINLAND 

the  way  of  escape  was  open.  He  had  promised  to  be 
back  at  the  mine  long  ago,  and  yet  he  had  stayed  in  the 
town.  Now  he  would  go.  The  city  with  its  vast  preten- 
tiousness could  take  care  of  itself.  Why  should  he  add 
to  the  dross  of  its  existence? 

VIII 

As  the  train,  which  carried  John  from  Ruperttown  to 
Garloo,  climbed  the  long  incline  leading  out  from  the 
town  into  the  open  bush  country,  John  felt  the  warm 
certainty  and  joy  of  one  who  returns  home.  At  Garloo 
he  discarded  his  town  clothes  in  place  of  a  blue  shirt  and 
dungaree.  The  strong  desire  to  be  immediately  in  con- 
tact with  the  earth  made  him  break  his  journey,  and 
for  several  days  he  wandered  by  himself  in  the  bush, 
sleeping  at  night  on  the  bare,  red  ground  under  the  stars. 
Here  at  last  his  mind  could  escape  the  cramping  bonds 
forged  for  it  in  the  city.  The  ever-youthful  quality  of 
the  desert  was  more  lasting  than  any  of  the  makeshift 
irrelevances  of  town  life.  In  the  evening  hush  of  the 
bush  there  was  calm:  a  tranquillity  so  wonderful,  that 
the  deep  gratitude  of  his  heart  welled  up  in  tears  to  his 
eyes.  Here  was  the  eternal  source  of  his  youth.  The 
evening  birds,  each  night,  gave  their  mournful  cries  in  the 
still  air.  They  spoke  the  language  most  adequate  to  ex- 
press the  wonder  of  the  twilight.  Each  night  as  he  lay  on 
the  ground,  looking  up  at  the  bright  southern  stars,  he  could 
see  the  shapes  of  black  mulga-leaves  silhouetted  clear  and 
dark  against  the  depths  of  the  sky.  His  heart  was  filled 
with  gratefulness  for  the  purity  of  his  solitude.  He  could 
believe  that  every  little  plant  and  bush  expressed,  even 
in  the  shape  of  branch  and  twig,  its  sense  of  happiness 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  293 

for  remaining  yet  unviolated  by  the  restlessness  of  man- 
kind. 

Yet  though  the  solitude  and  close  contact  with  the  un- 
spoiled wilderness  was  medicine  to  his  soul,  he  knew 
that  for  him  it  was  not  the  bread  of  life.  Even  in  the 
happiness  of  his  newly-found  content,  there  was  a  deep- 
moving  desire,  which  told  him  that  his  satisfaction  was 
but  temporary.  This  wild  beauty  of  nature  would  not 
always  be  sufficient.  It  was  not  complete.  His  very 
reverence  for  life  demanded  more.  There  was  something 
wanting  before  he  could  touch,  with  that  yearned-for 
familiarity,  the  deep  mystery  of  life.  He  knew  that  the 
key  for  him  was  in  some  attribute  of  the  feminine.  It 
was  not  merely  in  women.  Femaleness  was  not  enough; 
he  was  thankful  that  Mrs.  Carter  was  safely  in  Leith. 
He  wanted  love  as  he  had  once  felt  its  warm  pulse  — 
love,  folded  in  hope.  Hope  of  what?  he  questioned: 
of  a  spiritual  freedom  perhaps,  in  which  all  manifesta- 
tions of  life  might  be  touched  to  an  intenser  joy. 

He  knew  that  it  was  not  for  him  to  live  away  from 
mankind.  Unlike  Gilbert,  he  had  not  sufficiently  out- 
lived desire.  Desire,  with  its  wings  of  hope,  was  just 
stirring  after  long  years.  Ever  since  he  had  landed  at 
Kaimera,  it  had  been  buried  under  the  wrack  of  broken 
illusions,  under  the  weight  of  his  body's  fierce  reactions 
towards  life  at  any  cost.  Now  once  more  desire  stirred 
in  his  heart.  It  had  driven  him  from  the  city  to  the 
desert  and  would  drive  him  yet  further. 

For  not  more  than  a  week  did  John  stay  in  the  bush 
near  Garloo.  He  then  travelled  on  to  Tharamecka  and 
thence  to  the  mine.  He  was  glad  to  be  back  at  the  work. 
The  shafts  had  grown  during  his  absence.     There  was 


294  THE    MAINLAND 

much  news  to  hear  from  Dixon.  He  was  glad  to  be  back 
in  the  midst  of  work  once  more. 

"  The  old  mine's  going  along  first-rate,"  Dixon  told 
him.  "  She  hardly  needs  looking  at.  The  stuff  comes 
out  regularly;  there's  a  lot  more  ready  to  go  through 
the  mills.  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  give  the  word,  but 
I'll  go  down  and  see  it  through  whenever  you  like." 

"  I  think  it's  your  turn  for  a  holiday,"  said  John. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  down  and  see  your  people? 
I'll  see  the  stuff  through  the  mills." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  should.  I  want  to  see  Leith,  too.  I 
hardly  stopped  there  at  all  on  my  way  up;  just  one  day 
while  the  steamer  was  at  Port  Leith  and  that  was  all." 

"  Oh  well,  I'll  give  you  some  introductions,  and,  of 
course,  Stephens  will  see  you  through.  I  wonder  if  you'll 
like  the  life.  It's  a  great  change  from  the  bush.  I'm 
very  glad  to  get  back." 

"Why,  didn't  you  like  it?" 

"  In  a  way,  yes,  part  of  it  was  all  right.  I  don't  sup- 
pose though  that  a  man  like  myself  who's  lived  in  the 
wilds  all  his  life  can  understand  what  they  are  driving 
at." 

Dixon  waited  for  further  explanation. 

"  Oh  well,  you  see,  Stephens  moves  amongst  just  the 
rich  people.  They  have  things  as  they  like,  yet  none  seem 
satisfied.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  I  like  towns 
or  the  people  who  live  in  them." 

"  But  why  on  earth  not  ?  They  are  just  the  same  as 
other  people,  aren't  they?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  they  are.  I  don't  know 
what  people  are  like,"  John  said  testily.     "  I  know  I  was 


THE    BEATEN     TRACK  295 

damned  glad  to  get  out  of  Leith  and  wish  I  hadn't  stayed 
so  long." 

"  What  made  you  feel  like  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  John  repeated  more  thoughtfully. 
"Well,  I've  got  an  idea  what's  partly  the  matter:  the 
women  are  all  so  damned  unhappy.  I  don't  mean  to  say 
that  they  go  about  with  long  faces  (they  are  a  sight  more 
sprightly  than  is  natural),  but  they  are  not  happy.  The 
married  ones  are  hardly  ever  contented;  and  why  should 
they  be  with  their  beastly  little,  proper  homes  cluttered 
up  with  things  .  .  .  and  men  who  own  them,  without 
taking  the  trouble  to  understand.  The  unmarried  ones 
are  worse  off.  They  are  either  miserable  because  they 
can't  get  married,  or  else  slave  at  some  damned  job  that 
they  hate,  to  keep  what  they  call  their  freedom.  There's 
an  awful  lot  of  talk  about  women's  rights  and  freedom, 
but  the  more  they  get  of  it,  the  worse  off  they  are.  It 
simply  means  freedom  to  slave  their  youth  and  beauty 
away  in  an  office  for  some  money-grubbing  brute  like 
myself,  without  even  being  kissed  in  return.  Do  you 
remember  old  Gilbert  used  to  say  that  sex  was  the  curse 
of  life.  For  women  I  think  it  is;  neither  with  it,  nor 
without  it  can  they  be  happy.  ...  As  far  as  happiness 
goes  the  average  black  gin,  who's  the  common  property 
of  half  a  dozen  smelly  old  black  boys,  is  better  off  than 
the  women  drudges  of  the  town.  Why,  in  a  town,  you 
seldom  hear  a  woman  laugh  with  anything  like  the  light- 
heartedness  of  these  black  gins." 

"  Anyway,  Leith  doesn't  seem  to  have  agreed  with  you," 
laughed  Dixon.  "  Don't  you  think  that  you  are  taking 
rather  a  sour  view  of  things?     The  women  I  know  aren't 


296  THE     MAINLAND 

a  bit  like  you  describe.  They  are  as  reasonably  happy  as 
they  can  be.  Two  of  my  sisters  that  are  married  are 
awfully  happy,  I'm  sure." 

"Where  do  they  live?  " 

"  In  Hasty  Town." 

"  That's  only  a  tiny  place,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh  well,  I'm  sorry  I'm  sour,"  smiled  John.  "  That's 
how  they  appeared  to  me  in  Leith.  I  didn't  want  to 
find  them  like  that.  Perhaps  you'll  have  better  luck. 
Anyway,  I'm  happy  to  stay  here  if  you  want  to  go." 

It  was  arranged  that  Dixon  should  take  a  long  holiday, 
first  to  Leith,  and  then  down  to  "Cattle-chosen";  John 
to  keep  his  eye  on  the  mine  while  a  new  manager,  whom 
they  had  just  engaged,  was  getting  into  touch  with  the 
work.  Then,  after  a  week  or  so,  John  was  to  go  down 
to  Mt.  Gerard  to  see  the  ore  through  the  Mills. 

After  Dixon  had  left,  the  time  at  "  White  Rock  "  passed 
uneventfully.  John  was  very  glad  to  find  himself  once 
more  amongst  the  interest  of  the  work.  He  loved  the 
mine  as  a  man  loves  a  child  of  his  own  making  and  dis- 
covery, but  the  desire,  that  he  had  felt  kindling  when  he 
was  alone  in  the  bush  at  Garloo,  grew  steadily  more  ur- 
gent. He  began,  before  long,  to  look  forward  to  meeting 
Hilda  again.  He  remembered  the  easy  comradeship, 
wondering  how  he  could  for  so  long  have  done  without 
it.  Her  hard  absence  of  sentimentality  would  be  a  pleas- 
ant contrast  to  his  recollection  of  Alice  Carter. 

He  wrote  her  a  letter  saying  that  he  would  soon  be 
down  with  a  consignment  of  ore,  and  would  be  staying 
at  the  "  St.  Quintin."  Close  on  the  heels  of  his  letter  he 
followed.     Hilda  was  just  the  same.     She  had  the  same 


THE     BEATEN     TRACK  297 

pleased  laugh  of  recognition,  the  same  cheerful  smile, 
and  the  same  frank  renewal  of  their  relationship.  During 
the  first  few  days,  all  the  best  of  their  past  seemed 
revived.  He  thought  her  a  wonderful  person  in  her  free- 
dom. Then  one  day  she  surprised  him  by  saying  that 
she  thought  soon  of  getting  married. 

"Why?"  he  asked  her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I'm  getting  near  the  age  when 
one  has  to  get  married." 

"  Is  it  so  inevitable  as  that?  " 

"  Yes,  what's  a  woman  to  do  if  she  doesn't  get  married? 
I  don't  want  to  work.  Don't  think  me  horrid,  but,  my 
dear,  I  couldn't  marry  you.  Somehow  it  would  spoil 
things.  Why  we  have  always  got  on  so  well  together  is 
that  we  are  free.  I'm  glad  it  began  like  that,  and  so  it 
must  end.  If  we  were  married,  you  would  soon  cease  to 
pay  me  compliments.  Besides,  I  must  marry  some  man 
I  can  manage,  a  quiet,  docile  sort  of  fellow.  Some  one 
who'll  give  me  the  things  I  want.  You'd  never  do,  John. 
You  say  you  are  bored  with  Leith  already.  That's  where 
I  want  to  live." 

'  He'll  be  a  lucky  fellow,  whoever  he  is.  You  are 
splendid  the  way  you  can  see  things.  .  .  .  But  I  wish  we 
could  go  on  as  we  are  now  ..." 

"  No,  it's  all  very  well  for  you,  but  I  get  bored  to 
death  in  this  little  place,  with  all  its  beastly  red  dust. 
Besides,  there  comes  a  time  when  one  must  get  married; 
I'm  getting  near  it.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  I'm  jolly 
glad  we  met,  but  it  couldn't  last  for  ever.  Think  of  the 
old  women  who  are  childless  and  lonely.  I  don't  feel  I 
was  made  for  that." 

"  No,  of  course  you  are  not.     I  hope  you'll  have  a  big 


298  THE     MAINLAND 

family  of  clear-headed,  charming  people  like  yourself." 
"  Thank  you,  I  shall  take  great  care  not  to  have  a  big 
family.  Two  will  be  quite  enough.  I  hope  boys.  I'd 
rather  have  boys,  because  then  one  can  share  so  much 
in  their  lives  as  one  grows  old.  I  shall  know  of  some 
of  the  pretty  women  they  love,  and  be  glad.  I  shan't  be 
jealous  any  more  than  I  am  of  you.  ...  Of  course,  I 
know  that  you  wouldn't  have  stayed  all  that  time  in 
Leith  without  some  adventure!  Are  you  glad  to  be  back 
with  me?  " 

«  Yes "     John  generalized  from  a  particular  case. 

"  Most  women  are  so  sentimental." 
"  And  I'm  not." 
"  Not  a  bit." 

IX 

For  some  time  after  his  work  at  the  mills  was  accom- 
plished, John  stayed  on  at  Mt.  Gerard.  From  time  to 
time  he  would  visit  "  White  Rock,"  and  then  return  to  the 
pleasant  life  at  "  St.  Quintin."  For  a  time  the  vague  de- 
sire that  he  had  felt  at  Garloo  was  no  longer  uppermost, 
and  he  was  wholly  glad  of  Hilda's  companionship.  Then, 
as  the  weeks  passed,  he  began  to  be  again  discontented. 
He  came  also  to  understand  Hilda's  discontent.  She  was 
quite  right  in  wanting  to  get  married;  her  present  life 
could  not  really  satisfy  her.  Since  he  had  been  with  her, 
she  had  spoken  less  about  marriage,  but  as  soon  as  he  had 
gone,  he  knew  that  she  would  take  the  step.  For  both 
of  them  there  were  further  things  to  be  discovered.  They 
had  met  and  travelled  together  for  a  distance.  They 
would  be  friends  for  always,  but  they  must  part,  perhaps 
to  meet  again,  but  with  new  friendship,     His  growing 


THE    BEATEN     TRACK  299 

desire,  vague  but  incredibly  sure,  urged  him  to  travel  on. 
But  where  was  he  to  go?  The  solitude  of  the  bush  satis- 
fied him  no  longer.  Neither  did  the  mine  nor  the  life 
at  Mt.  Gerard. 

One  day  he  suddenly  announced  his  intention  of  going 
back  to  Leith,  giving  as  an  excuse  that  he  wished  to  meet 
Dixon.  Hilda,  who  had  seen  his  restlessness,  understood 
at  once,  and  felt  a  vague  melancholy  at  their  parting. 
This  she  concealed  under  her  usual  hard  cheerfulness. 

The  night  before  his  departure  he  went  to  her  with 
mixed  feelings  of  joy  and  regret.  In  the  morning,  when 
he  was  dressed,  he  went  to  kiss  her  good-bye,  where  she 
lay  still  in  bed  in  her  white  nightgown.  He  felt  a  sharp 
tightening  at  his  heart  and  an  overflowing  of  unspeak- 
able gratitude.  He  stooped  to  kiss  her,  putting  into  his 
kiss  more  undisguised  affection  than  perhaps  he  had  ever 
before  expressed.  She  gave  a  little  hard  laugh,  as  if 
warding  off,  and  rather  afraid  of,  his  tenderness.  "  Good- 
bye," he  said,  and,  when  he  had  left  the  room,  felt  he 
had  left  behind  him  almost  too  much  of  his  life  to  be 
bearable.  He  knew  he  was  right  to  go,  yet  the  parting 
was  full  of  pain. 

On  his  journey  westward  in  the  train  he  could  not 
forget  the  hard  little  laugh  when  he  had  kissed  her.  It 
made  him  understand  the  duplicity  of  both  his  and  her 
feelings,  also  it  revealed  more  than  anything  else  he  had 
experienced  the  tragic  compromise  of  a  woman's  life. 
He  understood  how  much  was  hidden  beneath  the  sur- 
face, and  felt  an  overwhelming  pity.  It  was  a  terrible 
audacity  that  any  woman,  however  well  equipped,  should 
challenge  the  cruelty  and  extreme  hazards  of  life.  Life 
was  hard  enough  for  men,  but  for  women,  how  much 


3oo  THE    MAINLAND 

worse!  How  lonely  each  soul  was.  How  terribly  in 
need  of  love.  Why  was  it  he  had  forgotten  how  to  love? 
One  would  not  love  people  sufficiently,  he  thought,  to 
protect  them  from  the  hard  disenchantments  of  life.  The 
thought  of  other  people's  existences  became  more  clear 
than  ever  before.  Each  lonely,  with  nothing  but  that 
astonishing  human  bravery  to  save  them  from  despair. 

Hilda He  did  not  really  have  fears  for  her 

She  would  marry,  would  manage  very  successfully  her 
husband  and  her  children,  have  her  full  share  of  human 
happiness;  and  yet  his  heart  ached.  He  found  now 
that  he  loved  her,  but  in  a  way  quite  contrary  to  any 
preconceived  idea.  That  was  why  he  was  so  willingly 
going  from  her. 

x 

When  he  arrived  in  Leith  John  did  not  go  to  Mac- 
quary's  hotel,  but  went  to  a  small  hotel  close  to  the 
harbour.  He  was  disappointed  to  find  that  Dixon  was 
down  south  with  his  people.  Failing  Dixon  he  didn't 
particularly  wish  to  see  any  one.  He  felt  that  he  had  no 
particular  function  in  Leith.  He  was  there  because  he 
was  restless,  and  the  big  movement  of  the  city  attracted 
him.  He  had  no  desire  to  join  the  routine  of  enter- 
tainments and  parties,  preferring  rather  to  keep  his  pres- 
ence in  the  capital  unknown.  He  wrote  only  to  Dixon, 
saying  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see  him. 

For  some  time  he  spent  his  days  wandering  about  the 
city  looking  at  the  many  and  various  manifestations  of 
city  life.  This,  of  course,  had  great  interest,  but  still  he 
was  lonely,  and  he  soon  began  to  feel  the  monotony  of 
his  idleness.     Then  one  day  he  made  a  discovery  not  of 


THE    BEATEN     TRACK  301 

anything  new,  but  of  something  old,  which  he  had  almost 
forgotten.  In  a  book  shop  he  saw  the  name  of  writers 
that  he  had  heard  of  from  Mrs.  Cray.  He  had  a  sudden 
desire  to  renew  all  those  memories.  The  life  he  had 
then  led  was  more  real  than  any  of  his  subsequent  ex- 
perience. He  went  in.  The  bookseller  happened  to  be 
also  a  book-lover,  and  soon  was  interested  in  John's  obvi- 
ous ignorance  of  literature  coupled  with  his  keen  en- 
thusiasm. For  an  hour  John  remained  in  the  shop  talk- 
ing with  the  bookseller  over  different  volumes  commended 
to  his  notice.  At  the  end  of  the  time  he  came  out  with 
a  large  parcel  under  his  arm.  The  bookseller  had  "  set 
him  up,"  as  he  said,  for  some  time  to  come. 

The  next  month  was  one  of  ever-increasing  pleasure. 
It  was  as  if  John  had  stepped  into  a  new  country,  or 
rather  into  several  very  large  new  countries.  He  read 
Darwin  and  Fabre.  Fabre  he  particularly  loved.  He 
read  Keats  and  Shelley.  Shakespeare  he  discovered  for 
the  first  time.  Don  Quixote  was  also  among  his  collec- 
tion. The  riches  of  all  the  world  were  opened  before 
him.  However  long  he  lived  there  would  always  be  more 
and  more  to  find  out;  always  a  richer  life. 

One  day  Dixon  walked  into  the  hotel.  "  What  are 
you  doing  here?  "  he  asked,  as  he  looked  round  at  the 
faded  curtains. 

"  Lying  low,"  said  John.  "  I  didn't  want  to  mix  in 
again  with  all  that  crowd." 

"  But  what  do  you  do  with  yourself?  " 

"  I've  been  reading,"  said  John,  amused  at  Dixon's 
surprise. 

"  I  see  you  have.  What  a  lot  of  books."  Then  — 
"  this  seems  a  dingy  sort  of  place." 


302  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Oh,  it's  not  so  bad;  it's  quiet.  No  one  of  the  set  ever 
comes  here." 

"  I  should  think  not.  .  .  .  But  it  is  dingy.  Look  here, 
I  want  you  to  come  down  and  stay  with  me  at  our  place." 

"  But  I  can't "  John  began. 

"  Oh,  yes  you  can,  you  can  read  as  much  as  you  like,  do 
just  what  you  like.  It's  quite  as  quiet  as  this  and  much 
nicer.  I've  got  a  nice  little  mare  for  you  to  ride,  and 
when  you  are  tired  of  reading,  there  are  things  we  can 
do  on  the  station.  They  have  all  heard  so  much  about 
you,  they  want  you  to  come,  and  say,  I've  got  to  bring 
you  along  with  me." 

This  appeared  to  John  to  be  the  one  thing  that  he  had 
of  course  wanted.     He  did  want  the  country  again. 

"  All  right,  I'll  come.     I'd  love  to." 


CHAPTER  IX 
EPILOGUE 


THROUGH  a  luxuriant,  though  airy,  undergrowth 
of  ferns,  black-boys,  tree-ferns  and  Dicksonias, 
the  huge  mottled  stems  of  jarra  and  salmon-gum 
thrust  upward  like  towering  columns,  which  carried,  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  ground,  the  magnificent  vaulting 
of  their  branches.  In  the  early  stillness  of  dawn,  a  thin 
mist  hung  in  the  tree-tops,  while  here  and  there  more 
opaque  streaks  of  vapour  stretched  motionless  athwart 
the  stems,  like  sleepy  sharks  drowsing  in  a  forest  of  giant 
undersea  growth.  Few  birds  were  yet  singing;  an  occa- 
sional parrot  high  up  among  the  leaf-tracery  screamed, 
and  perhaps  was  answered  by  some  distant  mate.  Night- 
moving  animals  stirred  the  fronds  of  fern,  and  slid  silently 
over  the  moss.  Among  the  moss  grew  tiny  plants;  creep- 
ers and  sundews,  with  flowers  as  small  as  their  delicate 
leaves  with  thin  petals  yet  concealed  within  the  protecting 
green  calyx-cup.  A  small  white  tent,  looking  as  insig- 
nificant as  a  dropped  handkerchief  amongst  the  sur- 
rounding grandeur  of  vegetation,  was  the  only  sign  that 
man  had  invaded  the  august  reticence  of  the  forest.  In 
the  doorway  of  the  tent  stood  a  young  woman.  She  was 
looking  out  through  the  tree-stems,  and  her  glance  trav- 
elled upward  to  the  faint  tracery  of  leaves  half-obscured 

303 


304  THE     MAINLAND 

by  the  mist.  Her  look  of  quiet  happiness  seemed  to  be 
touched  by  the  pervading  spirit  of  the  dawn,  having  a 
simple  harmony  with  the  great  enveloping  freshness  of 
all  things  newly  awakened.  A  week  ago  she  had  been 
married  to  John  Sherwin.  He  had  taken  her,  with  all 
the  simple  happiness  of  her  unshaken  confidence,  away 
into  the  forest,  one  of  those  great  forests  that  she  had 
known  so  well  since  her  childhood,  which  now  opened 
all  its  secrets  to  her  heart,  filling  her  with  content. 

Mary  Sherwin  was  blue-eyed  and  fair  skinned,  with 
broad  forehead  and  delicately  moulded  chin.  She  had 
the  look  of  one  who  is  still  full  of  confidence  in  life  and 
in  herself,  that  confidence  most  able  to  express  the  firm 
happiness  of  human  life.  In  the  forest,  there  was  for 
her  no  fear  lurking,  just  as  in  life  there  was  no  fear.  If 
there  was  enchantment,  and  assuredly  there  was,  that 
enchantment  was  a  part  of  the  beauty  of  existence.  For 
a  few  moments  she  stood  with  alert  eyes  and  ears  listen- 
ing to  the  hushed  though  vigorous  breath  of  the  dawning 
day.  Then  stepping  silently  across  the  moss,  she  walked 
a  short  distance  through  the  undergrowth  to  where  a 
stream  served  her  as  her  daily  bathing-place.  Here  she 
bathed,  delighting  in  the  fresh  coldness  of  the  water. 
After  she  had  bathed  and  was  again  dressed,  she  plucked 
a  small  bunch  of  flowers,  and  hung  them  on  a  twig,  then 
she  returned  to  the  tent  and  began  to  prepare  things  for 
breakfast  so  that  she  might  be  ready  with  hot  drink  and 
food  for  her  husband  when  he  returned. 

John  had  risen  very  early  at  the  first  twilight.  He  had 
left  his  young  wife  asleep,  and  had  wandered  off  with  his 
gun  into  the  forest.  In  the  early  morning  it  was  easier 
to  shoot  meat  for  their  day's  food,  also,  it  left  his  time 


EPILOGUE  305 

free  to  ride,  walk  or  read  with  her  in  the  daytime.  He 
had  gone  some  distance  from  the  camp  before  he  turned 
homewards  with  a  couple  of  young  wallabies  slung  over 
his  shoulder.  On  this  morning  walk,  which  was  the  first 
time  that  he  had  been  deliberately  alone  since  his  mar- 
riage, he  felt  the  full  measure  of  the  content  that  so  sud- 
denly had  come  into  his  life.  It  now  seemed  strange  to 
remember  that  only  three  months  ago  he  was  a  discon- 
tented man,  spending  his  time  in  irrelevant  philanderings 
in  Leith.  He  remembered  the  days  in  the  bush  at  Gar- 
loo,  and  the  urgent  desire  he  then  had  towards  a  more 
satisfying  expression.  Later,  when  he  had  come  to  the 
farm  on  the  Margaret  River,  it  had  seemed  to  him  a  place 
isolated  and  complete  in  its  own  atmosphere,  shut  off 
from  the  influences  of  modern  civilization.  All  the  best 
associations  of  his  own  youth  were  here  made  more  per- 
fect by  the  sober  dignity  of  the  old  farmer  and  his  wife. 
Here,  he  recognized,  was  a  life  very  simple,  yet  almost 
proud  in  the  very  limitations  imposed  by  its  simplicity. 
In  that  small,  neat  homestead,  what  was  worthy  of  human 
praise  and  effort  very  definitely  spoke  for  itself.  The 
father  and  mother  and  children  all  expressed  in  their 
every  movement  the  assurance  of  their  tacit  belief  in 
bravery,  strength  and  cleanliness.  There  was  kindness, 
too,  and  the  happiness  engendered  by  a  sympathy,  imagi- 
native enough  to  allow  for  individual  development. 

From  the  very  first  Mary  had  seemed  to  him  like  a 
grown-up  and  beautiful  child,  a  child,  whom  he  at  once 
hoped  would  never  know  the  cruelties  and  ugliness  of 
life.  He  had  felt  for  her,  in  those  first  days,  a  tender 
admiration  such  as  he  had  once  experienced  for  the  bril- 
liant blue  butterflies,  which  with  spontaneous  happiness 


306  THE    MAINLAND 

open  and  close  their  wings  in  the  bright  sunlight  of  the 
desert.  He  felt  that  the  existence  of  so  beautiful  a  crea- 
ture was  in  itself  a  justification  of  life,  of  life  as  yet 
untouched  by  the  urgency  of  physical  needs.  What  most 
appealed  to  him  was  her  spiritual  gladness.  Her  soul 
was  pure,  strong  for  adventure.  First,  admiration  alone 
filled  him,  then  he  began  to  feel  that  a  being  so  proud 
and  tender  must  never  be  permitted  to  go  unshielded 
among  life's  cruelties  which  can  be  so  fierce  in  their 
pain  that  both  flesh  and  spirit  can,  at  the  contact,  be 
mortally  wounded.  Though  he  believed  that  the  courage 
hidden  deep  in  the  calm  composure  of  her  eyes  could 
vanquish  many  injuries,  he  did  not  wish  that  her  spirit 
should  be  torn  by  contact  with  what  was  ugly.  It  was 
enough  that  men  should  have  to  undergo  that  ordeal; 
why  should  frail  women,  on  whom  the  very  functions  of 
life  imposed  so  many  burdens,  be  compelled  to  bear  it 
also.  If  her  body  must  of  necessity  suffer  from  life, 
he  wished  her  spirit  to  have  always  strong  wings,  that 
had  never  been  broken. 

His  love  for  her  had  grown  quickly,  but  with  little 
passion.  It  was  at  first  such  a  love  as  he  would  have  felt 
for  a  child,  who,  without  knowing  it,  needed  his  protec- 
tion. During  his  stay  at  the  farm  there  had  been  much 
opportunity  for  them  to  talk.  They  had  ridden  often 
in  the  evenings  over  the  wide  enclosures  that  sloped 
toward  the  sea.  They  had  talked  not  only  of  the  wild 
outdoor  life  that  they  both  loved,  but  of  the  thoughts  stirred 
in  him  by  the  books  he  had  been  reading.  The  ideas 
germinating  in  his  own  mind  had  also  struck  root  in  her 
brain,  becoming  thereby  a  bond.  In  her  shining,  eager 
enthusiasm  he  saw  his  unspoiled  self.     It  seemed  that 


EPILOGUE  307 

all  that  was  most  loved  in  himself,  and  which  he  had 
thought  lost,  was  suddenly  redeemed. 

When  he  asked  her  to  marry  him,  he  knew  already  her 
answer.  As  they  rode  home  that  evening  it  was  sur- 
prising that  they  had  kept  separate  for  so  long,  and  that 
they  should  be  married  now  seemed  a  small  thing,  it  was 
but  the  beginning  of  an  adventure.  Perhaps  by  the  help 
of  that  adventure  he  would  rediscover  himself.  Already, 
values  won  from  past  experience  were  becoming  firm  and 
sure. 

Now  as  he  walked  alone  in  the  forest  in  the  hush  of 
early  dawn,  the  memories  of  his  past  life  gave  him  a 
feeling  of  awe  and  yet  of  hope  in  the  sight  of  his  new 
adventure.  When  he  came  to  the  stream,  he  followed  its 
course  to  their  bathing-place.  Here  he  found  the  little 
bunch  of  flowers,  and  knew  that  his  wife  had  already 
been  there.  Quickly  taking  off  his  clothes  he  plunged 
in.  When  he  rose  to  the  surface  he  shouted  from  sheer 
joy  in  life. 

At  the  tent  he  found  Mary  waiting  for  him  with  break- 
fast ready. 

n 

One  morning  when  they  were  riding  through  the  forest 
towards  the  coast,  which  was  not  far  distant,  she  ex- 
claimed suddenly:  "  John,  tell  me  about  Leith.  I  have 
often  wanted  to  go,  but  have  never  been  further  north 
than  Pinjanup.  I  have  heard  so  much  about  it.  It 
must  be  wonderful  there.     Will  you  take  me?  " 

"  It  isn't  half  so  nice  as  the  country  here,"  said  John. 

"  But  there's  the  wonderful  harbour.  T  should  like  to 
see  that,  too." 


308  THE     MAINLAND 

"  Yes,  the  harbour's  all  right,"  he  admitted. 

"Don't  you  like  Leith?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Why?" 

John  didn't  wish  to  tell  her  all  his  reasons  for  disliking 
the  city,  yet  felt  that  if  he  based  his  answer  on  any  small 
foundation  she  would  think  lightly  of  it.  During  his  two 
visits  to  Leith  his  eyes  had  been  open;  and  in  any  city 
or  town  it  is  not  difficult  to  see  the  misery  of  the  streets; 
the  poverty,  greed,  dishonesty,  luxury,  indifference.  He 
hoped  that  his  wife  would  never  know  of  the  great  sub- 
stratum of  city  life,  believing  that  ignorance  of  such  things 
meant  a  freer  happiness.  Such  lives  as  Mrs.  Leeth's, 
Mabel's  and  even  Mrs.  Carter's,  he  felt,  were  the  natural 
product  of  the  great  mill  of  civilization,  which,  gathering 
all  human  desire  and  spirit  into  its  clutch,  mangles  them 
beneath  its  huge  rollers,  and  at  last  flings  out  the  poor 
remnants  of  human  souls,  to  hang  slack  and  wasted  like 
dirty  rags.  But  he  did  not  wish  to  tell  her  all  this.  "  I 
hate  the  cities  and  towns  because  life  loses  its  value 
there.  Everything  .  .  .  things  of  the  most  importance 
get  covered  up  by  all  the  things  that  don't  matter." 

Mary  was  silent  for  a  little,  then  she  said:  "  I  should 
like  to  go  and  see  for  myself.  I  have  always  thought  of 
Leith  so  differently.  Father  and  mother  are  proud  of 
our  city.  You  see,  they  remember  its  growth.  It's  the 
centre  of  the  country.  I  thought  it  was  the  heart  of  all 
the  life  of  the  land." 

"  No.  The  real  life  is  out  here  and  up  in  the  bush, 
that's  where  people  do  things.  ...  I  can't  explain  it, 
because  I  don't  understand  it  all.  But  I  know  that  I 
dislike  that  life  and  love  this  and  the  life  up  in  the  bush. 


EPILOGUE  309 

That's  all,"  he  smiled.  Then  since  Mary  was  again 
silent,  "  I'm  like  my  father,"  he  said.  "  He  ran  away 
from  civilization  and  hated  it.  Of  course,  in  a  way  my 
father  was  a  failure.  That's  why  he  lived  always  on  that 
island.  I  don't  want  to  do  that,  but  " —  he  spoke  now 
with  sudden  feeling  — "  I  feel  that  only  injury  and  evil 
can  come  to  people  from  life  in  cities.  I've  seen  such 
hell  of  misery  there.  No  one  is  really  happy.  The  rich 
people  do  an  awful  lot  of  things  to  keep  themselves 
amused,  but  they  are  not  happy." 

Mary  smiled  at  his  sudden  earnestness,  she  liked  him 
for  being  so  definite  and  uncompromising.  "  I  want  to 
know  about  things  for  myself,"  she  said;  "  I'm  not  so 
weak  as  to  break  at  the  first  touch." 

"  I  know  you  are  not,"  he  said  gravely,  then,  smiling, 
"  There's  always  life." 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  Leith?  " 

For  some  moments  he  made  no  answer.  He  didn't 
like  to  think  of  Mary  among  Mrs.  Melville's  set,  caught 
up  in  all  their  irrelevancies.  Then  he  thought,  that  if  he 
had  been  able  to  come  safe  through  it  all,  she  with  her 
calm  dignity  of  spirit  would  be  able  to  form  a  true  valua- 
tion. He  believed  that  the  ballast  of  her  early  life  would 
bring  her  safely  through  the  city's  superficial  glamour. 
"  Yes,  I'll  take  you,"  he  said.  "  And  I'll  take  you  to 
the  mine,  too,  and  show  you  the  bush-scrub.  I  love  the 
desert,  in  a  way,  as  much  as  I  love  this  country  here. 
And  then  I'll  take  you  on  to  see  my  people  at  Kanna 
Island.  I  should  like  to  see  them  again,  and  it  would 
give  them  great  pleasure  to  see  you.  You  will  find  them 
rough,  crude  people,  who  have  been  cut  off  from  the  rest 
of  the  world   for  nearly  thirty  years.     My   father   was 


310  THE     MAINLAND 

always  a  rough  fellow,  though  he  made  me  respect  him. 
We  had  a  great  struggle  when  I  wanted  to  leave  the 
island.  It  was  that,  that  brought  us  together.  I  never 
loved  him  till  then.  Then  he  showed  me  that  he  could 
be  generous  as  well  as  strong.  .  .  .  Will  you  come  with 
me  over  there?  " 

"  Yes,  John.     I'd  like  to." 

"Very  well;  we'll  go  first  to  the  mine  and  I'll  show 
you  the  country  that  Bob  and  I  tramped  through.  Then 
we'll  go  to  Kanna,  then  back  to  Leith,  and  you  can  stay 
there  as  long  as  you  like.  By  that  time  the  new  house 
will  be  built." 

"  If  you  don't  like  Leith  we  won't  stay  there  long," 
she  said.  "  We  can  come  back  here.  I've  never  been  so 
happy  as  I  am  here.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  want  to  stay 
long  in  Leith,  but  I  want  to  see  for  myself.  If  the  new 
house  is  nearly  finished,  of  course,  I  shall  want  to  come 
down  and  see  how  it's  getting  on." 

"  Look,"  he  said,  "  you  can  see  the  sea  through  that 
gap  in  the  trees  —  and  again  over  there  right  away  in  the 
distance.  My  word,  this  is  a  glorious  country."  Then, 
smiling  at  his  wife,  "  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  it  for  even 
a  few  weeks,  but  it  will  be  fine  to  come  back  to  it.  .  .  . 
Bob  has  been  a  trump  the  way  he's  looked  after  the  mine 
while  we've  been  down  here,  and  I've  neglected  it  shame- 
fully. .  .  .  Well,  we'll  start  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  Oh,  not  just  yet,"  she  said.  "  Let's  stay  a  week 
longer." 

"  Very  well,  then,  we'll  go  home  and  say  good-bye  to 
your  people  and  get  some  clothes  together.  I  want 
to  see  the  builders,  too.  I  shall  go  over  to  Hasty  Town 
and  make  sure  they  understand  all  about  the  new  house. 


EPILOGUE  311 

I  shall  have  a  good  three  days'  work  to  put  in  before  I'm 
ready  to  start." 

For  a  while  they  talked  about  the  new  house  that  they 
were  having  built  on  an  estate  that  they  had  bought  not 
far  from  "  Cattle-chosen,"  and  about  their  coming  journey. 
But  later,  when  from  a  small  hill-top  a  long  stretch  of 
coast  and  broken  sand-dunes  was  suddenly  spread  before 
them,  they  forgot  everything  in  the  delight  of  that  wide 
view  of  sparsely  populated  land  sloping  to  the  white 
breakers  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  John  was  very  glad  that 
there  was  yet  a  week's  respite  before  returning  to  the 
life  of  the  world.  He  would  willingly  go  when  the 
time  came,  yet  it  was  a  pleasant  thought  that  for  some 
days  longer  they  would  sleep  beneath  the  high  vaulting 
of  the  trees,  and  each  morning  be  awakened  by  the  early 
cry  of  birds  in  the  cool  seclusion  of  the  forest. 


THE   END 


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